


Adnexus

by penlex



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dumbles the Matchmaker, Forced Proximity, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, magical bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 03:29:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penlex/pseuds/penlex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is having mysterious nightmares at the beginning of his fourth year at Hogwarts. Sirius knows what they mean. Dumbledore knows what they mean. And, however reluctantly he is to admit it, Snape knows what they mean, too. But all’s well, for Dumbledore has a plan to make it all better. Of course, Snape will be the one who has to carry out said plan. Why did he take this job again? Well, he’s stuck with it now. And stuck with Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on hpfandom.net, back in the day. unedited in the move. a relic.

Wormtail hated feeding his master. He should never have come back. He should have let Black and Lupin kill him. It would have been better than this fate. He did not want to move Voldemort closer to the fire. He did not want to milk Nagini. But still, he did it anyway. He was a servant after all. What else did servants do? They could spy and report to the enemy, Wormtail thought mutinously. But he must behave tonight. He had questions.

“My Lord, how long will we stay here?”  
“A week or longer, Wormtail. Until the Quidditch World Cup is over, at least,” Voldemort replied in his high, cruel voice. Wormtail nodded. It didn’t really matter how long they stayed. There were more important matters to discuss.

“Are you still determined, my Lord?”

“But of course I am, Wormtail,” Voldemort hissed in a scolding tone. I should have known better than to ask, Wormtail grudgingly admitted to himself. Wormtail sighed and bravely continued.

“It could be done without Harry Potter.” Voldemort raised a cold, cruel, accusing eyebrow at Wormtail, who took a small step back.

“I don’t suggest this out of concern for him, my Lord!” he added quickly. “But – but without him, it could be done so – so much faster!”

“NO!” Voldemort hissed. “I will use no other! We will proceed with the plan!”

“B-but, my Lord, Harry P-potter is so hard to get at,” Wormtail insisted, though his courage was fading away by now.

“Silence! The plan has no flaws! My faithful servant at Hogwarts will make no mistakes, Wormtail. We make no changes!” Wormtail fell into a sulky silence, downcast and hopeless.

After a while Voldemort’s voice assumed a new tone. “Just one more murder, Wormtail. Yes, Bertha Jorkins was most helpful and her death will go unnoticed for some time.” Here the Dark Lord paused to laugh his evil mirthless laugh. “One more killing and our path to Harry Potter is clear!”

-

Harry kept replaying the dream in his head. With shaking hands he pulled a scroll of parchment, quill and ink toward him and sat down at his desk. He ran a finger over the lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead. It was aching and throbbing and felt hot to the touch. His face was covered in cold sweat.

Harry took a deep breath and looked out the foggy window at the quiet peaceful street of Privet Drive. It was the last place you’d expect to find an evil, murderous wizard and his cowardly, back-stabbing servant.

Harry took another deep breath, dipped his quill in the ink and placed its tip on the parchment to write a letter to his godfather, Sirius Black.

When Harry was finished, his letter was very long. He had included every detail of the dream he could remember. He sat back in his chair and re-read what he had written, pushing his round glasses up on his nose, which was still wet with perspiration. After adding a few words here and scratching out a few there, Harry was satisfied with his letter. He left it on his desk for Hedwig to deliver and began pacing around his room, waiting for her to return from hunting.

Voldemort had some sort of plan. That, of course, was bad. But the worst part was that he had Wormtail, and not just Wormtail, either. A faithful servant at Hogwarts. That was anything but good. In fact, that was horrible. They’d killed Bertha Jorkins, whoever that was, and they apparently had just one more person in their way. One more person they had to murder and then, then they were going to kill Harry.

Harry shivered as Hedwig soared through his open window and landed gracefully on top of her cage. She saw Harry’s letter and dropped her dead rat in excitement that she was getting a delivery. Harry walked over to his beautiful snowy owl and picked up his letter to Sirius. Hedwig obediently held up a leg for him to tie the scroll to. Seconds later she had flown back out into the night and was gone.

Harry stared out his window, watching the white speck in the sky that was Hedwig. Then he slammed the glass shut and buried his face in his hands, sinking on to his bed. He took a deep breath and sighed loudly. Harry took his hands away from his face, removed his glasses, and lay back on his pillow, staring at the ceiling. He rubbed his scar again.

How he wished it had never been there.

-

Sirius Black sat comfortably and quietly in an abandoned cottage on a beach, absentmindedly staring out at the starry sky. He saw that one of the stars seemed to be coming toward him. Then he noticed that it had wings.

“Hedwig!” he guessed, standing and opening the window for her. “Hey, girl.” Sirius patted his godson’s owl on the head and removed the scroll tied to her leg. He handed over the leftovers from his dinner and crossed the room to lean on Buckbeak the hippogriff.

After reading Harry’s letter, Sirius’s good mood was completely gone. This could only mean one thing, and he hoped to God that he was wrong, or that Harry had just had a nightmare. He crumpled the letter in his fist and began to pace his room in distress.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of moving urgently back and forth across the dusty wooden floorboards, Sirius seemed to make up his mind. He sat back down on the dilapidated bed in the corner, where Hedwig still sat, munching happily on bit of bone belonging to an unfortunate seagull that Sirius had caught to eat.

Sirius searched through the many pockets in his cloak and finally found what he was looking for – a scroll of old parchment, a squished and broken quill, and a cartridge of ink.

He then wrote a hurried letter to Albus Dumbledore…

-

“Severus, things are going to have to be much different between you and Harry this year.” Snape snorted. There was no way in hell that he was ever going to treat Potter any different. The stupid brat was just like his father – completely full of himself.

“I think, Severus, that if you might try to get along with him… even just in the slightest bit, he would do the same,” Dumbledore continued, ignoring the rude sound Snape had made to express his doubt that such a thing was possible. “Will you try to work with him?” Snape raised a disbelieving eyebrow at the Headmaster. Things were just fine the way they were. Why did Dumbledore want them to change?

“Forgive me, Headmaster,” Snape sneered. “But what is the point of this meeting?” Dumbledore gave him a stern look over the top of his half-moon spectacles. In answer he handed Snape the letter he had just received from Sirius Black. Snape read it silently, pausing at the signature. He gritted his teeth.

“May I ask,” he said coldly. “Why you are communicating with him?” He thrust Sirius’s letter back at Dumbledore bitterly. He’d hoped that, even though Black had not had the Dementor’s Kiss performed on him, they had at least seen the last of him.

“I think you know the answer to that, Severus,” Dumbledore replied, just as coldly. “It is you who needs to accept that Sirius is innocent.”

“Innocent my ass,” Snape muttered under his breath so that Dumbledore couldn’t hear. But he knew what Harry’s dream must mean, and he didn’t like it any more than either of them did. He sighed.

“I suppose you want me to look around for this faithful servant?”

“On the side, perhaps,” Dumbledore told him, the twinkle returning to his shockingly blue eyes. A half-smile creased his mouth. Snape could not help but dread the orders that would soon issue from those smiling lips.

“What new amusing task have you for me now, Headmaster?”

“I want you to look after the boy, Severus.” Dumbledore’s lips were twitching now. He looked like he wanted to laugh. Snape’s fists clenched.

“Do I not do enough looking after him already, Albus?” he demanded quietly.

“Oh, this time you’ll have some of my magic to aid you in the task.” Dumbledore stood and opened a drawer in his desk. He pulled out two necklaces. From each was hanging a shiny, pink, half-heart shaped pendent, one saying in girly purple letters ‘Best’ and the other ‘Friends.’

Snape glared apprehensively at the two necklaces dangling from Dumbledore’s old fingers. Somehow, he thought, this year was not going to be enjoyable for him at all.

…


	2. Necklaces

Harry did not enjoy breakfast with the Dursleys the next morning. All three of his relatives completely ignored him, all staring at the television to avoid looking at him.

Harry ate his bacon in silence, still thinking about his dream. He wondered when Sirius would write him back. He hoped it would be soon.

The doorbell rang. Grumbling and grouching about pesky neighbours, Uncle Vernon went to answer the door. Harry vaguely heard a conversation take place. There was a short bought of laughter, which Uncle Vernon quickly silenced in a curt tone. Then Harry heard the door close and Uncle Vernon returned to the table, glaring angrily over at Harry.

“What?” Harry asked his uncle rudely. After all, he hadn’t done anything. Why should he have to be the recipient of such an ugly glare? Especially so early in the morning.

“Living room,” Vernon barked at Harry. Harry bit his tongue to keep from saying, ‘I didn’t do it,’ and followed Uncle Vernon into the living room.

“What is this?” Uncle Vernon demanded, brandishing a letter under Harry’s nose.

“I dunno,” Harry replied. “I can’t read it when you’re waving it around like that.” Uncle Vernon gave Harry a very nasty look indeed, but he shoved the letter into Harry’s hands. Harry couldn’t help but feel a little better. He loved getting mail, however roughly he received it.

Slowly, carefully he unfolded the letter. It was from the Weasleys wondering, Harry dear, if maybe did you want to come to the Quidditch World Cup with us? Only, it wouldn’t make much sense to send you back to the Dursleys' after that, so would you maybe be allowed to stay the rest of the summer? And hoping you are well. And do send your reply the normal way, if you don’t mind, Harry dear. Oh, and did we put enough stamps on? Harry couldn’t hold down the smile that appeared on his face after reading this. He tried not to laugh.

“What do you think, then, boy?” Uncle Vernon barked, snapping Harry out of his blissful memories of the Burrow. Vernon pushed an envelope into Harry’s hands. “Did they put on enough stamps?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Harry said, grinning now. The envelope was completely covered in stamps, not a single space of the actual paper was visible, except for where Mrs. Weasley had written the address. Uncle Vernon didn’t seem satisfied with Harry’s response.

“What kind of people,” he snarled. “Don’t know how many stamps to put on a letter?”

“Wiz –” Harry stopped himself just in time, having been warned of danger-to-come by Uncle Vernon’s rapidly purpling face. “My kind.” Uncle Vernon glared angrily at Harry. He seemed to have been looking forward to an excuse to yell and scream at him. Harry looked up at his uncle in mock innocence.

“So,” he asked. “Can I go, then?” Uncle Vernon looked poised between two decisions. Harry could practically hear the gears turning. On the one hand, Vernon could say no, and Harry would be unhappy, which was always strived for in this household. On the other, he could say yes, and there would be no Harry to make unhappy in the first place. But which to choose? Finally Uncle Vernon answered.

“Fine then, boy,” he snapped. He snatched the letter and envelope from Harry’s hands, tore them into tiny pieces, and then marched back into the kitchen. Harry raced upstairs to pack his trunk.

Eight o’clock that evening found Harry pacing across the Dursleys’ living room awaiting the arrival of the Weasleys. Having been warned by owl post that they were going to use the Floo, Harry fidgeted impatiently in front of the fireplace, which had miraculously been uncovered at his request.

The Dursleys sat behind him on their fancy couch in their fancy clothes and followed Harry’s progress back and forth across their fancy carpet which had been freshly vacuumed by Aunt Petunia.

This new higher level of clean didn’t last long, however, as Ron Weasley came rushing out of the fancy fireplace in a puff of soot and ash and green sparks. Aunt Petunia screamed, Uncle Vernon swore, and Harry was pretty sure he heard a whimper from Dudley. He grinned.

“Oi, mate,” Ron greeted Harry as he brushed the ash and soot from his robes.

“Hey, Ron,” Harry replied, his grin widening. Apparently it hadn’t stretched to its full extent however, because when Fred, George, and Mr. Weasley popped out of the fireplace after Ron, it widened farther still. Fred and George grinned back at him and offered him identical salutations.

“Hiya, Harry,” with a wave of one hand and a wink. Arthur waved to Harry as well and then directed his attention to the Dursleys, who were sitting as if turned to stone on the couch.

“Well, we’d best be going, so a short farewell.” He bowed his head and the twins chorused a cheery, “Yeah, see ya!” Ron waved though it was quite obviously not genuine. Harry snorted.

“Bye,” he said shortly. Then he took the handful of Floo Powder Ron was offering. Without hesitation, Harry stepped right in to the fireplace, dropped the powder and shouted, “The Burrow!”

In a swirl of green he was whisked away to his destination. The last thing Harry heard before stepping out into the kitchen of the Weasley household was Petunia screaming again and the twins laughing.

“Hullo, Mrs. Weasley.” As soon as she heard his voice, Mrs. Weasley rushed over to Harry and began fussing over him. She tsked over how terribly skinny he was, she brushed soot and ash from his robes, she checked and double checked his glasses to make sure they weren’t broken, and tried desperately, though futilely, to flatten his unruly hair.

“Oh, let him be, mum,” Ron muttered, stepping out of the fireplace behind Harry. Mrs. Weasley tsked at him too, but she stopped anyway.

“Well, well, who’s this?” an unfamiliar voice asked in a cheerful and friendly tone. A tall, muscular redhead Harry had never seen before stepped into the kitchen from the hallway just as Fred and George stepped together out of the fireplace.

“Oho!” the twins cried, rushing forward.

“This, Charlie, dear brother of mine –” George began.

“– is none other than the great –” Fred continued.

“– the famous –”

“– the awe-inspiring –”

“– all powerful –”

“– Harry Potter!” With a flourish Fred lifted Harry’s fringe to show off his scar. Then the twins were pushing him forward toward Charlie.

“He’s our best mate, you know,” George claimed.

“Wonderful guy, really,” Fred confirmed.

“Excellent company –” George went on.

“– and our partner in crime,” Fred finished. Both twins gave Harry a wink and George patted Harry’s back pocket where he knew, somehow, Harry had stuffed the Marauder’s Map when he’d nearly forgotten it.

“I see,” Charlie said happily, punching Harry playfully on the shoulder. Harry grinned shyly at him. Charlie winked.

“What are you two rambling on about now?” Another redhead had walked around the corner now. His flaming hair was much longer than any of the other Weasleys’, even Ginny’s or Molly’s. It was tied back and this new arrival had an earring with a tooth hanging from it and a fuzzy-looking red goatee.

“Oi! Bill!” George jumped in excitedly.

“Meet Harry!” Fred exclaimed.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Ron scolded his brothers from over in the corner by the fireplace. “He’s my friend, I’ll do the introductions.” Ron walked over to them and gripped Harry by the elbow, waving Fred and George away. He then turned to the other two redheads.

“Bill, Charlie,” he said. “This is Harry Potter, my best mate. Harry, these are my other two brothers, Bill and Charlie. Bill’s the Cursebreaker, Charlie works with the dragons.”

“Right.” Harry nodded, holding out a hand to shake. Bill took it first, then Charlie. They both had calloused, rough hands and were very strong.

“Boys.” Ginny had chosen that moment to walk in. She rolled her eyes at the ceiling and headed over to greet her father who had just come out of the Floo. “When’re we leaving, Dad?” Mr. Weasley clapped an affectionate hand on his daughter’s shoulder and grinned around at the rest of the room.

“We’ll be setting off early tomorrow morning,” he informed them. “So you’d all better get a nice good night’s sleep. You don’t want to miss anything.”

“Yes, yes, best get to bed,” Mrs. Weasley agreed. “Ron, why don’t you show Harry up to your room?”

“Right.” Ron led Harry out of the room and up the stairs. And up the stairs. And up the stairs. And up…

“Alright then, here we are.” Ron opened the door to his Chudley Cannons dominated room. Harry grinned around at it. It felt good to be here again. Harry quickly slipped off his glasses and doffed his shoes and socks. He set his glasses on the bedside table next to the cot set up for him and slid his shoes underneath. Then he shimmied out of his jeans and shrugged off his t-shirt so that he was wearing nothing but his boxers and a black tank. Then he climbed under the covers and promptly fell asleep, excitement flooding his dreams with wild Quidditch moves.

The morning dawned bright and early. Very, very early. Nearly everyone was grumpy and none of them wanted to change out of their pyjamas. Hermione showed up when Harry was still in his underwear, embarrassing him and adding to the chaos. Finally, they all managed to stuff their faces with a decent amount of food and they headed out.

The walk to the top of Stoatshead Hill was long and tiring. When they finally reached the top they found two people waiting for them already, holding a ratty old boot between them.

“Oh, hello, Arthur!” the older one called, dropping the boot into the other’s arms and waving. “We were beginning to think you wouldn’t show!”

“Oh, no,” Mr. Weasley told him. “No, Amos, it’s just a bit of a walk is all.”

“Yes, of course, of course,” replied Amos distractedly, taking in Mr. Weasley’s little entourage. “Merlin’s beard, these all yours?”

“No, no, goodness no!” Mr. Weasley pointed to Harry and Hermione. “Those two are just our guests,” he said. “Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.”

“Harry Potter, did you say? The Harry Potter?” Harry rolled his eyes. Not this again.

“Yes, that’s the one,” Mr. Weasley confirmed. “But let’s not goggle, shall we? Tends to make a man self-conscious.” Amos nodded, but he looked like he wanted to disagree. Instead, he turned to the other person.

“You’ve met my son, haven’t you Arthur?” he asked, gesturing the boy forward to say hello. “Cedric.”

“Cedric Diggory?” one of the twins demanded.

“Yup, that’s me,” Cedric declared.

“Beat Potter at Quidditch, this one did,” Amos bragged, clapping his son proudly on the back.

“That wasn’t a fair match, Dad –” Cedric began modestly.

“Oh, but it was, Ced!” Amos argued. “He fell off his broom and you didn’t!”

“There were Dementors,” Harry hissed coldly, his fists clenching on the straps of his bag, knuckles going white.

“Oh, yes, well…” Amos Diggory quickly became awkward, digging a toe into the dirt and bowing his head like a school boy caught doing something wrong by his favourite teacher.

“Portkey should be about ready!” Mr. Weasley changed the subject loudly.

“Right.” They all circled around the old tatty shoe and each managed to touch some part of it. It glowed blue for a few seconds, just enough to catch Harry’s interest and then he felt a sharp tugging pull behind his navel. He almost said ghlk, but changed his mind at the last minute. Then suddenly, Harry’s feet slammed into the ground. He looked around. From what he could see between the mass of arms around him, he guessed they were no longer on Stoatshead Hill.

“Oi, Arthur, Amos,” said a voice from behind Harry. They all turned to see a wizard looking quite the weirdo in a kilt and poncho.

“Hello, Basil,” Mr. Weasley and Mr. Diggory greeted. The poncho-clad wizard nodded to both and then directed them to their camps, turning away and murmuring to himself as they set off.

It turned out they had one of the best spots, right next to the field Mr. Weasley informed them. They would be one of the firsts in their seats. They set up their tents, which were not nearly as shabby inside as they were out, and started up a campfire, with lots of help from Hermione. After that was done, Harry, Ron, and Hermione went off in search of water, travelling the long way to the spout in order to explore the camp.

There were witches and wizards everywhere. Young girls racing round the fires on mini little brooms while their brothers summoned up giant slugs in the front yards of their tents. Scolding mothers and yawning fathers and cheerful teenagers. A few African-looking-and-sounding young men that appeared to be telling ghost stories, though Harry couldn’t tell for sure, as he only spoke English.

Then it all went green. Everything was covered from top to bottom with shamrocks. Little grinning faces that appeared out of tents blanketed over with four-leaf clovers looked like they could easily be tricky little elves up for a joke any time. Like they could send Fred and George on a run for their money.

“Harry! Ron! Hermione!” someone called. They turned. Seamus, sitting in front of a tent identical to the other shamrock swamped ones all around, sitting with his mother and Dean Thomas. “Like the decorations, then? Ministry doesn’t seem to approve much.” They each grinned and told the three how much they absolutely loved their shamrock-ness and then set off again.

Next they ran into a whole lot of red. They looked a bit closer and saw that every surface was covered in posters. Posters of a surly-looking chap with big bushy eyebrows and a nose to rival Snape’s. The bushy-eyebrowed-big-nosed-chap blinked at them and scowled.

“That’s Krum,” Ron told them. “Viktor Krum, Bulgarian seeker. Only eighteen, I think. Best there ever was. Bloody brilliant, he is.”

They finally reached the water tap and then hurried off back to their tent, on the way running into Oliver Wood, Ernie Macmillan, and Cho Chang, who Harry couldn’t help but think was a very pretty young lady.

When they eventually managed to return to their tent, all the rest of the Weasleys were sitting round the fire while Mr. Weasley introduced each and every Ministry witch or wizard that walked by and told them all what they did and how well. There was a lot of very uninteresting stuff going on at the Ministry, apparently, but there were a fair few points of excitement as well. Unspeakables, for instance, Harry thought. The Department of Mysteries. Nobody knew what went on in there except for the people who did it all, and they never talked, did they? Hence the name.

They soon met Ludo Bagman, head of Magical Games and Sports and a very cheerful fellow. He greeted them all rather obnoxiously and loudly asked Mr. Weasley to repeat Harry’s name a few times. He then made a bet with the twins and then cheerfully joined them for tea and a chat, pockets jingling merrily as he sat on the ground next to Harry.

After that came old Barty Crouch, who wasn’t nearly as pleasant as Ludo seemed to be. In fact, he reminded Harry a bit of Uncle Vernon; only his moustache was a lot smaller and much more perfect. There was conversation of Bulgarians wanting more seats, illegal flying carpets, and tea from ‘Weatherby’ as Mr. Crouch called Percy. The twins thought this highly amusing and promised to never let Percy live it down. Then Ludo apparently almost let slip about something happening at Hogwarts and Mr. Crouch bid the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione good day for both of them and sped them away.

Interesting.

They went out then and got themselves some souvenirs and flags and such, then, as they made it back to the tent, a gong sounded and it was time for the game.

Two very exciting mascot shows later, the teams came out. Each player was introduced as they flew onto the pitch and circled once around the goal hoops. Then, without further ado the game began.

God, Harry loved Quidditch.

Severus had never really seen the attraction of Quidditch. As he sat just below the Top Box where Potter and his cronies were no doubt enjoying this rubbish thoroughly, Severus watched it with utter distaste. The game was rough and many of the athletes played dirty. He really didn’t see the point in chasing around two balls while running away from two others.

However, he had to watch the pointless waste of time fun-and-games, because dear old Dumbledore had told him to. He had to watch out for anything mysterious, Dumbledore had said. Keep an eye out for something strange, he’d told him. What a nut, Severus thought angrily. Like anything could happen here, of all places, amid festivities and more Ministry goobers than one could keep track of.

He watched with disinterest while Ireland’s chasers fed Bulgaria’s keeper his arse on a silver platter. He rolled his eyes as Krum pulled off two Wronski Feints. He snorted with disgust as beaters illegally beat Blugders where they weren’t supposed to. He prayed to the heavens for God’s mercy and a nice strike of lightning to just kill him now when the Bulgarian mascots, Veela tried to seduce the ref into changing his mind on a call. He sighed in relief when finally Krum caught the Snitch to save Bulgaria from an even more spectacular loss and the game was over.

Cheering Irishmen and sulking Bulgarians made their way back to their tents while Severus happily headed back to the dungeons of Hogwarts to enjoy the rest of his beloved summer in peace and quiet.

Little did he know, he left just a little too soon.

Sleep was good. Harry loved sleep. He could sleep all day long and be perfectly happy about it. Sleep was…

Interrupted.

Harry opened his eyes blearily and blinked up at the ceiling in sleepy confusion. How dare someone interrupt sleep? Sleep was the all-powerful love of Harry’s life! Slowly, Harry came to his wakeful senses and realized somewhat reluctantly that his resting had probably been disturbed for a good reason. He turned his head to the side to see what was going on in the rest of the tent.

He saw a blurry redheaded blob rushing around rousing three others. He guessed the first blob was Mr. Weasley, but just to be sure he reached over to his bedside table and grabbed his glasses. Slipping the wiry frames over his ears, Harry sat up and took another look around.

He’d guessed right. It was Mr. Weasley running around getting Ron and the twins to get out of bed. He was shouting too, and looked terrified. Percy, Bill, and Charlie were on the other side of the tent, whispering worriedly in a corner. Harry’s gut clenched. What was going on?

“What’s wrong?” he demanded. “What happened?” Harry dodged a pillow as a grouchy Ron rolled onto the floor with a thud. Drowsy and mumbling twins leaned on each other while they rubbed sleep from their still closed eyes.

“Up! Up! Get up!” Mr. Weasley urged them. “Hurry!” Harry leapt out of bed and grabbed a pair of jeans. “No! No time to get dressed. Get out of the tent and head over to the field. Get the girls and stay close.” He was rushing Harry and his sons out of the tent now, explained to them that he, Percy, Bill, and Charlie were off to help the Ministry and reminded them again to hurry over to the Quidditch field on the other side of the wood.

Harry, Fred, George, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all hurried, staying together as best they could back toward where the game had been played. It wasn’t until they saw Malfoy leaning calmly on the trunk of a tree, usual smirk in place that Harry realized he didn’t have his wand. He, Ron, and Hermione told Fred, George, and Ginny that they were going to head back to find it and that they’d meet them at the field when they had.

The trio had been hell bent on retrieving Harry’s wand, but when they saw the destruction back at the campsite, they panicked. There were several drunken wizards huddled in a group, trampling tents and people and setting fire to things as they made their way trough the camp. With magic they were controlling four people floating high above them. The four people were, even from this distance, obviously muggles and two of them were children.

“We’ll find your wand later, mate,” Ron said hurriedly, as Hermione’s hands, shaking, found their way up to cover her mouth in shock and terror. He grabbed Harry by the shoulder and they rushed away back into the woods. They soon found themselves wondering among the rest of the campers, heading again toward the temporary Quidditch pitch. The panicked people all around them were screaming and running around helter-skelter and confusing their senses of direction.

“Why don’t we find a quiet place and head out again once most of all this dies down?” Hermione suggested, gesturing at the chaos around her. Ron and Harry nodded and they headed to the side of the path to find a clearing or something of the sort.

It wasn’t long till they found what they were looking for and settled in, sitting on tree stumps or little patches of moss and revelling in the fact that the noise was muffled by a small amount of trees now. They could still see the path so that they wouldn’t get lost and would also know when it was a good time to start toward the field again.

The peace didn’t last long though. It had only been but a few minutes before they heard a little scuffling behind them, like someone moving through bushes. All three of them jumped up and faced the noise. Ron and Hermione drew their wands.

“Who’s there?” Ron demanded. “Show yourself!”

“MORSMORDRE!” a harsh male voice replied. Something green shot from the bushes into the sky with a sizzling hiss. Harry, Ron, and Hermione spun on their heels to stare up at a huge glowing green skull with a snake coming out of its mouth that floated in the sky, staring down at them menacingly.

“What the –” Harry began. But he glanced to the right at his friends and was cut off by the looks on their faces. Hermione was shaking again, her hands covering her mouth and she looked positively horror-struck. Ron was as pale as Harry had ever seen him go.

“Oh god,” Ron whispered. Then there were several loud cracks, like whips and they found themselves surrounded by wizards of all shapes and sizes and they were all pointing their wands at them. Harry was the first to realize that a spell was on each and every strange wizard’s tongue and he grabbed his friends by the fronts of their shirts and yanked them to the ground, the dozens of red jets of light just barely missing them.

Harry slowly raised his head when all the spells had passed and peeked at the wizards that were surrounding them. They appeared to all be in uniform. He peered closer and saw they were Ministry officials, most of them Aurors. He gulped unconsciously.

“Stop! Stop it! That’s my son!” Harry breathed a sigh of relief as Mr. Weasley came panting up. Mr. Weasley rushed up to them and pulled them to their feet. He hugged Ron first, swearing a lot and telling him how glad he was that he was okay. Next he hugged Harry in about the same manner. He hugged Hermione silently but buried his face in her hair with his eyes closed.

“Move aside, Arthur,” said a very official, down-to-business sounding voice. Harry looked at the speaker to see that it was Mr. Crouch. Mr. Weasley let go of Hermione and glared at Mr. Crouch.

“Come now, Barty,” he snapped. “You can’t honestly think they conjured it?” Harry looked back and forth from Mr. Weasley to Mr. Crouch, confused as ever.

“Er… Conjured what?” he asked, feeling stupid. All eyes turned on him.

“The Dark Mark,” said one of the Aurors, pointing up at the green skull in the sky. Harry allowed his eyes to look again at it. It inspired a huge fear in his stomach but also anger. He couldn’t explain it.

“What’s that?” he wondered. The Ministry wizards blinked dumbly at him. He blinked dumbly back. Then Hermione answered.

“It’s the mark of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Harry,” she told him. “When he was powerful, it was conjured over the places where he or his followers had killed.” Now all eyes turned on her.

“You seem to know an awful lot about it, missy,” accused Mr. Crouch, pointing his wand at Hermione’s chest. The other wands all followed his.

“I – I read about it –” she stuttered, backing up.

“Honestly, now!” Mr. Weasley came to her defence. “She’s just a teenager. She probably doesn’t even have enough power to conjure it, Barty.” As Mr. Crouch opened his mouth to argue Ron cut in.

“Look, we didn’t conjure it, okay. Someone said an incantation from over there.” He pointed to the bushes. “That’s all we know.” Everyone turned to the bushes Ron had indicated, staring at them as if they held all the answers to life’s problems.

“An incantation, you say, boy?” another Auror said.

“Yeah,” Ron confirmed. “Morda-morda, or something like that.”

“Morsmordre,” Hermione corrected. Mr. Crouch gave her one last glare before heading in the direction Ron had pointed. There was rustling and mumbling and thumping, thudding, and swearing for a few minutes. Then Mr. Crouch came back and gave Ron a glare as well.

“There’s nothing there,” he informed them all. He glared from Ron to Hermione and back again accusingly. “If you’re lying –”

“Honestly, Barty!” Mr. Weasley interrupted. “They’re teenagers for god’s sake!” Mr. Crouch drew himself up to his full height, nose in the air, and Apparated away. The rest of the Ministry officials followed. Mr. Weasley, Ron, and Hermione breathed sighs of relief.

“That could do with a bit of explaining,” Harry said, annoyed.

“Yes, it could,” Mr. Weasley scolded them. “What’re you three doing separated from the others?” They rushed into an explanation, telling Mr. Weasley all about Harry not having his wand, going back to find it, then changing their minds when they saw the chaos that waited for them. When they were done, Mr. Weasley sighed and tiredly rubbed his forehead. From a pocket he pulled Harry’s wand and handed it over, explaining that it had been in the tent and telling him to be more careful. Harry nodded and took his wand, even throwing a few ‘yes sir’s in there.

As they turned to leave the clearing and to get back home as soon as possible, there were two more loud cracks. They all spun round and drew their wands again, just in case. From just outside the clearing stepped none other than Albus Dumbledore, followed reluctantly by a very grumpy-looking Snape.

They’d all sat down on the tree stumps around the clearing, the Weasleys and Granger and Potter all gaping stupidly at them. Dumbledore explained slowly about how Black had written to him about Potter’s nightmares. After this there had been a brief confrontation. Apparently Potter had not told his friends. Patiently waiting out the guilty pause that followed, unlike Severus, Dumbledore then proceeded to tell of how he’d informed Severus of the dreams. This was greeted with glares and even a few noses wrinkled in disgust. Severus found he did not care whether Potter’s friends disliked the fact that he had known this detail before them. In fact, he was pleased with it. He would later find a way, he decided, to rub it in their faces. Now, he simply smirked at them.

Next, Dumbledore explained all about his bloody necklaces and what a brilliant plan they were and how wonderfully protected Potter would be and blah, blah, blah. The old coot conveniently left out Severus’s name as he told them all how the necklaces would make a connection between Potter and his ‘protector.’ Said connection would prevent the two from being in separate rooms and would even feel the need to be closer when one was worried about the other. If aforementioned worry were to strengthen the necklaces would even desire to touch and soon thereafter connect themselves. The necklaces were impossible to take off except in ‘certain circumstances’ which, of course, Dumbledore failed to specify. Shortly thereafter, he finally declared that the necklaces would be put on now, right this very second.

Potter stared blankly back at Dumbledore when the Headmaster had finished speaking. After blinking stupidly a few times, Potter removed all doubt that he was completely and utterly mentally disabled.

“So... so is it Mr. Weasley, then? My protector, I mean. Or… or Hermione, maybe?” Severus rolled his eyes. Why, oh why, did it always have to be him?

“No, you dolt,” he snapped. “It’s me. Arthur has work and Granger has separate classes from you. The headmaster, no doubt, has better things to do.” That last was said with quite a lot of bitterness. Severus found, once again, that he did not care. Dumbledore had the nerve to smile.

“Indeed,” he said. “Severus will be your protector for as long as he is needed to be.” Potter and Weasley stared at Dumbledore with nothing short of horror while Granger and the other Weasley simply looked uncomfortable. Severus found himself sneering at them again. They deserved the discomfort, he found himself thinking. Ah, if only there had been some other hated teacher and he could’ve been left out and watched it all from the sidelines. What a perfect use for popcorn. Too bad. Severus sighed. So much for a pleasant year watching students hurting themselves for glory in the Triwizard Tournament, he thought morosely. Now he had to make sure a student didn’t get hurt. What fun was that?

“But – but,” Potter was arguing. “We can’t put the necklaces on now. It’s still summer. I’m at the Weasleys’. He can’t stay at the Weasleys’! Professor – Professor, he’d ruin everything. He’s a grump. Honestly –” Other Weasley cut in.

“He does have a point, Albus,” he agreed, trying to sound reasonable and, in Severus’s opinion, failing miserably. “Severus is not exactly the world’s most cheerful influence. Not to mention, I think he’d enjoy himself even less than the children.”

“Enjoy himself less?!” Weasley shouted now. “Less?! Are you kidding me? His favourite thing to do’s make Harry’s life hell!” Other Weasley and Granger both gave him a scolding look.

“Please do control yourself, Mister Weasley,” Dumbledore said calmly. Weasley’s look of horror returned and Severus couldn’t help but snort his amusement. As Weasley opened his mouth to start shouting out his disapproval some more, Dumbledore held up one hand while delving the other into the pocket of his robes. Every trace of Severus’s amusement was gone now. Dumbledore was getting the necklaces.

As the necklaces and all their pink half-heart and purple girly 'best friends' glory were revealed, Weasley burst into a fit of laughter. It was Potter’s turn to re-don his look of horror now, as he laid sight on the girly disgusting pink-ness of the necklaces that would bind him to none other than Severus Snape, his least favourite teacher ever. No doubt they were the last thing he’d been expecting.

“Shut up, Ron,” he snarled, pushing Weasley off his tree stump. “Shut it. It’s not funny!”

“No – no, it is, Harry,” Weasley argued from the ground. “No – think about it. Snape has to wear it, too!” And he collapsed again into hysteria.

“All right, who gets ‘best’?” Dumbledore asked cheerfully. Severus and Potter both glared at him. Then they glared at each other. They did not answer. “Oh, come now, gentlemen,” Dumbledore urged them. “The best part of ‘best friends’ charms is deciding who gets what.” When they still didn’t answer, he chose for them. Potter got ‘best,’ Severus got ‘friends.’ Oh, the joy.

After Severus and Potter had been handed their respective necklaces, Dumbledore raised his wand, practically grinning now. They all felt the magic gather, felt it concentrate and then felt it do it’s job as Dumbledore spoke the dreaded incantation.

“Adnexus.”

…


	3. The Goblet of Fire

Harry awoke at the Burrow to a very awkward silence. It took him a moment, as he surfaced from a deep sleep, to realize why the silence was awkward. Then the memories of last night came back to him in a rush. The fact that Snape knew about his nightmares, the fact that Dumbledore thought Snape best to protect Harry, the fact that Dumbledore had made it practically impossible for Snape to not protect him, and the completely silent Ministry-car ride home. _Awkwardly_ silent.

“Bugger,” Harry swore. He sat up and looked across the room. Snape was already awake, staring at Harry in both amusement and annoyance while Ron eyed the Potions Master apprehensively. Snape raised an eyebrow at Harry.

“Finally up?” he sneered. “Get dressed; I’d rather not spend the entire day in an attic room of the Weasley Hovel.” The other two both glared at him. Harry dressed as slowly as humanly possible, telling himself all the while that he wasn’t getting up because Snape had told him to… it was because… because he was hungry. Yeah, that was it. He was hungry.

The next several weeks passed much the same. Harry woke to awkward silence and some rude way of being told to rise every morning. He led Snape down to breakfast, where he was rushed to finish. Then he was asked to join in some game or other with some Weasley or other but was forced to refuse, because Snape didn’t want to. Snape wanted to do boring things. He wanted to read. He wanted to think. Who in their right mind spent their free time thinking?

Then they’d have lunch, where Harry would be rushed again, just so Snape could sit in the living room and, well, sit. Then they would have dinner, after which the Weasleys would watch their nightly wizarding movie and Snape would refuse to sit through such nonsense and Harry would be forced to go to bed early. Snape always stayed up late. Sitting. What a dork.

Finally, the morning of September first dawned with its usual chaos. Harry rushed around with the rest, packing his things, stuffing down an insubstantial breakfast, carrying his things downstairs, bumping into people, avoiding Fred and George just in case, and running back upstairs repeatedly to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. Harry even went upstairs three extra times, just to annoy Snape, but unfortunately it didn’t seem to affect him. Shortly thereafter, Harry found out why.

As the Weasleys were loading trunks and such into the Ministry car that had arrived to take them to King’s Cross, Snape stopped just inside the front door, so that Harry couldn’t step out of the house. He smirked down at Harry almost evilly.

“You needn’t have hurried, Potter,” he sneered unpleasantly. “You won’t be leaving with them, after all.” The greasy git then took a few more steps back into the house and stopped the twins from carrying out Harry’s trunk for him. “He’ll be leaving with me,” he told them, with obvious humour. Harry glared at him angrily. Git.

Snape led Harry into the living room where, no surprise, he sat. And sat. And Harry was bored. Very bored. Like he had been all summer. Snape was _boring._

“Are we leaving yet?” Harry asked impatiently for at least the millionth time. They’d been sitting here for the past two hours, just sitting. The Weasley kids were long gone and their parents went out for lunch after seeing their children off. And so Snape and Harry sat.

“No,” Snape told him. Again. Harry groaned.

“Are we ever going to leave?” he whined.

“Yes,” Snape replied, with an annoyed sigh.

“Oh, good,” said Harry. There was a pause of about ten seconds. “When?”

“Not yet.” There was another stretch of silence, this one lasting about five or six minutes in which Harry fidgeted and Snape sat quietly. Then…

“Are we leaving yet?” Harry asked impatiently.

When they finally did leave, they did so using Apparition. Harry found he didn’t much like Apparition. It felt like being squeezed through a tube that he was too big to really fit through. All in all, a very uncomfortable experience.

They arrived on the dirt road that led from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts and Snape immediately set off at a brisk pace toward the school. With a snap of his fingers, his and Harry’s bags rushed on ahead of them at breakneck speed.

When they entered the castle, out of habit, Harry started off toward the Great Hall.  
“Not yet,” Snape told him irritably.

“Oh, right,” Harry muttered, freezing in his tracks before dramatically twisting around, backtracking, and heading instead for the marble staircase that led to the next floor up. Snape rolled his eyes and spun on his heel, trotting lightly down the stone steps leading to the dungeons. There were only a few minuscule seconds in which nothing seemed to be happening. But slowly, the magic Dumbledore had put into the two necklaces Snape and Harry wore sprung into action.

Harry’s necklace swung around backwards, so that the tip of the pink half-heart pointed at Snape’s downwardly retreating back. Harry didn’t even have enough time to wonder what might possibly happen before the half-heart gave a great lurch and he toppled down the stairs with a yelp.

Harry fell down flight after flight of stairs after Snape with many bangs, booms, crashes, cries of pain, and nasty swear words. Down past the Slytherin Common Room, past the dungeon classrooms, past storage rooms, and down further yet, each step like a kick to the ribs. Finally, Harry arrived at his forced-upon destination, landing flat on his back in a doorway, looking dazedly up into the face of his Potions professor.

“So, Mr. Potter,” Snape drawled. “Decided to join me, have you?” Harry groaned in response and Snape smirked down at him. The Potions master stepped back out into the hall to push Harry inside his rooms with a foot. While Snape was gathering a few healing potions from the cupboards around his living room, Harry somehow managed to lean his back up against the wall so he could be minutely dignified in a sitting position. Snape came back over and knelt down next to his student, handing over the potions he’d collected from his stores. He pulled out his wand and waved it around a bit, muttering spells under his breath until Harry felt better and they both stood.

Snape led Harry quickly through his personal rooms, showing him only what he had to. Finally, they reached Harry’s new room where his trunk was waiting to be unpacked. The room looked almost exactly like the rest; cold stone walls, cold stone floor, no windows, minimal decoration, books the only personal items. The bed was smack dab in the centre of the room. It was a four-poster only it was lacking curtains and it was covered in plain grey sheets. There was no comforter or blanket and the pillow was dilapidated to an extreme. There were only three actual walls. Instead of a fourth, there was a deep green, almost black velvet curtain drawn down the left side, splitting a larger room in half.

Snape gestured irritably at Harry’s trunk to tell him to start unpacking before disappearing behind the heavy curtain to his own half of the room, which, unbeknownst to Harry, was quite a bit bigger.

It didn’t take Harry long to unpack all his things and arrange them around the room the way he wanted. This was lucky, as it only took about thirty minutes for the rest of the school to show up. It was time for dinner.

The Sorting passed without much event. The Headmaster did his usual pointless opening blurb, and then the food appeared and everything seemed to go back to normal. Harry sat with Ron and Hermione, while Snape sat at the Head Table, next to Dumbledore and McGonagall and did not look too happy about it. The Golden Trio talked happily and made jokes. They ate and talked to their peers and even conversed a bit with Nearly Headless Nick, despite the multiple insults Ron had accidentally given the ghost before.

Just before dessert was served, Dumbledore put a pause to the chatter by rising from his seat. It was then that the Headmaster informed them all about the Triwizard Tournament. He told them of the rules and requirements and of the two other schools to be arriving later in the month, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. He described the winnings in great detail as well. A thousand galleons was only the beginning. The winner would have glory, fame, and honour, not to mention a whole hell of a lot of respect. When the Headmaster sat down again, conversation erupted once more, the noise level even louder now than at the start of the Feast.

The younger students excitedly discussed which older ones would submit their names to this so-called impartial judge. The older students bragged loudly that they would assuredly be Hogwarts’s Champion. Everyone wondered aloud at what the three tasks would be and what the other two schools would be like.

So dinner was normal, if not a bit more exciting than usual toward the end. That changed, though, when the plates were cleared, the boring yearly notices were given, and the students dismissed. Harry would not be going up to Gryffindor Tower with his friends. He wouldn’t be staying up late, telling tales of his summer, trading candy, or predicting the events of the coming school year. No, this year, Harry would be sleeping in the dungeons. With Snape.

With a sigh, Harry looked up at the Head Table where his Potions professor was standing. He nodded to McGonagall and Dumbledore, with a few words to the latter, and headed for the door behind the staff’s seats. Harry scrambled up quickly and rushed in the door’s general direction, unwilling to repeat today’s earlier experience, but he was too late.

Summoning forth a yelp of pain and a thigh that was probably bruised something horrible; Harry’s necklace gave a hearty tug, pulling him into the table before him. Harry swore quietly as the necklace desisted in light of the obstacle and rubbed his painful thigh. With a growl and some muttering, Harry set off toward the door again at a more leisurely pace.

This was a bad idea, however, for the necklace was apparently just taking a little break. In a matter of seconds, Harry was being pulled out of the Great Hall at breakneck speed, stubbing his toe quite a few times on the way.

Down the stairs to Snape’s dungeon rooms, Harry had tried his best to stay on his feet. He stumbled a bit, though, and was dragged across a couple landings, but fortunately, he kept all his ribs intact this time.

There was no talking. At all. They went straight to bed without a word. The light was banished, pyjamas were donned, and covers were drawn up. There was silence. Harry didn’t know how much time passed of him staring up at the ceiling in discomfort, but he figured Snape must already be asleep. He couldn’t hear anything from the other side of the curtain, but that could possibly be that Snape had enchanted it. Harry wouldn’t put it past the Potions Master to do so. All Harry really knew at the moment was that the dungeons spooked him.

There were echoes and creepy sounds from upstairs one floor that sounded like they could be laughter in the Slytherin Common Room. The shadows were long and the walls were cold and comfortless, much unlike the ones up in Gryffindor Tower that were covered with posters and other personal items. There were bubbling sounds coming from Snape’s office next door, and thinking of Snape’s office reminded Harry of all the creepy dead things floating around in jars that Snape seemed to collect.

The memory of Snape collecting creepy dead things inspired a wakeful nightmare in which Snape was some sort of evil scientist from a bad Muggle horror movie. Harry’s gut clenched and he glanced nervously at the curtain in a fit of self-induced fear. Eventually, Harry rolled over, buried his head in his pillow, and covered up his ears.

His night was not a pleasant one.

Harry awoke in the morning grumpy, tired, and far from refreshed. For a moment, he couldn’t remember why, but soon he recalled the spooks of the night before and shivered. He rubbed sleep from his eyes with a soft groan.

The curtain separating the two halves of the room was ripped aside, and Snape strode quickly past with a scowl.

“Get up, Potter,” he snapped irritably. “I’ll not be late because of you.” Harry rolled his eyes and stood up, digging around in his trunk for his school uniform. After he managed to get himself properly dressed, Harry strolled into the kitchen area with a confidence that wasn’t really there and plopped himself down on a barstool.

“So who’s attending whose classes?” he inquired lightly as he could. Snape gave Harry a look that clearly called him many names, all of which insulted his intelligence, but Harry was used to looks like these from Snape and ignored it.

“I will be attending your classes, as teachers can be substituted for. Students on the other hand, actually need to be at their classes to have anything at all accomplished, not that I suspect you’ll manage as much either way.”

“Right,” Harry said with a nod and another roll of the eyes. He was pretty used to that as well. He reached across the table and grabbed a green apple from a bowl of fruit resting on it, only to have his hand smacked away by an irate Potions Master.

“Breakfast is in the Great Hall. Pester your bratty friends with your disastrous table manners, not me,” Harry’s professor snarled at him. Snape then turned on his heel, preparing to make his grand exit. Harry wrinkled his nose at Snape’s back as he stood to follow his least favourite teacher.

“Not much of a morning person, then, huh?” he muttered.

Harry never could understand why Snape walked so bloody fast. It had never been a problem before, but now it most definitely was and Harry’s neck was letting him know it.

“If you can’t keep up, Potter –”

“What?” Harry demanded angrily, interrupting Snape and rubbing his sore neck, which had greatly dampened his already not particularly good mood. “What’re you gonna do?” Snape ground his teeth for a few minutes before replying in venomous tones.

“ _Move faster._ ”

“Why are you in such a hurry?” Harry snapped. “Breakfast isn’t going to get up and run away.” In response, Snape stepped quickly through the door of the Great Hall, causing the magic of the necklaces around each of their necks to activate. Harry’s necklace pulled him through the door after Snape, and Harry bumped into the Potions Master.

“Watch where you are going, Potter! You complete and utter imbecile!” Snape snarled at Harry.

“It’s your fault, you git!” Harry yelled back. “You’re the one who’s in such a bloody rush!” Snape narrowed his eyes threateningly at Harry.

“Fifty points from Gryffindor for the name calling, Potter, and detention,” he said.

“What’s the point of giving me detention?” Harry growled. “I’m stuck with you anyway.”

“If you are in detention, Potter,” Snape explained. “then you are stuck with me in a place of my choosing.” He turned and stalked off toward the staff table.

“I changed my mind,” Harry yelled after him. “You’re not a git; you’re a greasy pillow-biting arsehole!” Snape whirled around, fists clenched and fire burning in his eyes, about to reply, but Dumbledore got there before he could open his mouth.

“Now, now, gentlemen,” Dumbledore scolded, though the effect was greatly reduced by the twinkle in his eye and the smile on his lips. “This problem is simply your communication, or lack there of.”

“The hell it is!” the other two argued. Dumbledore held up a hand and shook his head at them, smile growing in spite of him.

“All you need to do is cooperate,” he told them softly. “Just work together.” The flood of protests that poured from Harry and Snape then were very, very loud indeed.

“….cannot expect me….”  
“….not humanly possible….”  
“….incompetent little brat….”  
“….bloody git….”  
“….finally gone insane….”  
“….how can you even….”

Dumbledore’s smile brightened considerably as he said, “See, you’ve discovered something to agree on already.” He then left the Great Hall in obvious high spirits. Harry and Snape gawked after him, in a shock just as obvious as Dumbledore’s elation. Slowly, they turned to each other.

“Let’s not give him the satisfaction of seeing that work, shall we?” Snape asked.

“Yeah sure.” Harry nodded.

“Good,” Snape replied. “I still have power over you and you get no say, peachy?” Without waiting for an answer, Snape set off toward his seat again.

“Hey!” Harry called after Snape. “That’s not fair.”

“Such is life, Mr. Potter,” said Snape. “Besides, that was quite my point.” Harry glared at him for a minute before grumpily sitting down to his own breakfast.

Apparently, Snape did not reserve being a bastard to his own classes. Every single class Harry had that day was hell. With Snape breathing over his shoulder every minute, Harry was much more likely to make a mistake, which Snape never missed and was sure to sneer at.

“…Amazingly you have managed to produce a _pink_ matchbox, Potter. Even _I_ could not have guessed you were _that_ incompetent.” “It’s not _pink_! It’s… mauve.” “It’s _pink_ , Potter, _pink_ …”

“…I will give you, Mr. Potter, the fact that this subject – as well as the professor – is utter rubbish, but even that does not permit you to provide that sorry excuse for divination as your homework…”

“…The incantation is _Circino_ , Potter, not _Cirkeeno_ …” “I said _Circino_!” “Then why, pre tell, did the spell not work?...”

But Harry didn’t let it bother him. He tried his best to pay more attention to the professor teaching the class, rather than the one sitting in the shadows by the door being as insulting as possible. Potions was horrible, even by its normal standards, and Snape seemed to enjoy making Harry fall down the stairs and show up to class late a lot. Fortunately, there was one class in which Snape had no comment.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was just as good this year as it had been last. Sure, Harry missed Remus, but he liked Moody almost as much. Moody had really been there. He knew what he was talking about and he wasn’t afraid to say what needed to be said. He was rough and tough and his class was not for the light-hearted. Harry felt sorry for the Hufflepuffs.

Their very first class, Moody bashed up the Ministry a bit, which Harry could not deny was enjoyable. Moody claimed the Ministry was weak and didn’t give out the information that the students needed to keep themselves safe. He told them that the Ministry didn’t approve of him and that they frowned upon Dumbledore’s staffing in general. He also told them that he could be arrested and carted off to Azkaban for what he was about to show them. Moody then proceeded to demonstrate the three Unforgivable Curses: the Cruciatus ( _Crucio_ ); the Imperius ( _Imperio_ ); and the Killing Curse ( _Avada Kedavra_ ). Harry couldn’t help but flinch at the last.

Despite the harshness of Moody’s teaching style, the class was an immediate hit throughout the school. Everyone was talking about the newest professor. Except Snape. Harry thought it strange that Snape held his tongue about Moody. It seemed to him that Snape always had something to say, usually derogatory, of course, but still. He did notice, though, that Moody and Snape seemed to already have met somewhere. They appeared to hate each other. Late in the week, Harry finally remembered that Moody was an ex-Auror and had to bite back a laugh.

Talked about even more than Moody and his Defence classes was the up-coming Triwizard Tournament. Harry was just as excited as everybody else. He couldn’t wait to see what the trials were and who would be competing on behalf of Hogwarts. He heard a rumour go around that Angelina Johnson was going to get in and knock Durmstrang and Beauxbatons dead. Knowing there was some minor fact for the word to be based upon; Harry wished his team-mate luck while Snape sneered at her. No doubt the Potions Master suspected one of his own house to be Champion.

Finally, the day of Beauxbatons’s and Durmstrang’s arrivals were upon them, and the students of Hogwarts huddled together outside, all whispering excitedly and doing a bad job at following the rules.

Nobody knew what to expect. As far as they’d been informed, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang had not written to say how they were coming or where they’d show up. So the entire school turned out to stand in the cold outside the Entrance Hall. They were split up first by house, and then by year. The first, second, and third year Gryffindors huddled amongst their friends in front of Harry and his own. McGonagall stood in front of her line of brave students and Snape, on the other side of Hufflepuff’s and Ravenclaw’s lines, stood at the head of his own group of clever snakes. Harry was glad of the distance. For the first time in an entire week, he couldn’t hear whatever rude remark the Head of Slytherin was surely making.

Harry was snapped out of his wistful Snape-less thoughts by the arrival of a loud and obnoxious horse-drawn carriage. The thing that was so loud and obnoxious about it was that, not only did it fly, but it was also gigantic. Even Hagrid, Harry decided, plus the whole of Gryffindor could fit in that carriage comfortably, no problem.

The door of the carriage (which was powder blue and gold) sprung open and a set of three golden stairs descended from its floor to the ground of Hogwarts’s lawn. Several beautiful blonde girls stepped lightly from the giant carriage, each dressed in powder blue robes that went only to their knees, with golden clasps at their necks and matching slippers that ended in an elf-like point. After the beautiful blonde girls came beautiful blonde boys. They reminded Harry a bit of Malfoy, only dressed in sleeveless powder blue robes and hats with golden feathers in the brims. The beautiful blonde group of powder blue covered students marched through the castle doors with their noses in the air, each turning back to make a curtsy or a bow to their Hogwarts peers. Ron stifled a laugh and leaned over to whisper in Harry’s ear.

“Bloody French,” he muttered with another snort. Harry grinned at his best mate and rolled his eyes before turning to look back at the enormous carriage. Stepping from it now was a woman Harry was sure would be just as beautiful as her students, if not more, if only she weren’t so huge. She was twice as tall as Dumbledore, who was easily the tallest person in Hogwarts, aside from Hagrid of course, and three times as thick. She was only slightly smaller than Hagrid himself, and that was only because of the natural shape of her body. Maybe she only appeared smaller. The woman was wearing a very flattering black satin dress and stiletto heals (as if she needed to be taller), as well as a black opal on a gold chain. Her black hair was pulled back in a bun, secured with gold chopsticks.

“Madame Maxime,” Dumbledore greeted the huge woman, not even having to bend to kiss the back of her hand. She offered her own salutations to the Headmaster and was then led inside by her retreating students, just in time for a boat to rise abruptly from the centre of the lake with a roaring splash. A rotted looking gangplank landed on the bank of the lake with a thunk and a skittering away of frightened creatures of both land and sea.

Several girls screamed and clung to each other as two men descended the gangplank onto the lawns of Hogwarts. Harry squinted to see who they were and what the fuss was about. He didn’t recognize the first, but the second he knew immediately.

“It’s Krum,” he and Ron said in unison, turning to each other to gape in awe. They both looked back to where Krum and the other man were coming towards them, followed by the rest of Durmstrang’s designated students. “Damn.” Hermione rolled her eyes at the lot of them.

“Ah, Igor,” Dumbledore murmured to the man at Krum’s shoulder.

“Dumbledore,” the man replied. His voice was cold despite the warm, cheerful smile plastered onto his face. Though, now that Harry looked closer, he saw that the smile did not even come close to reaching the man’s eyes. He felt a sudden inexplicable urge to look over at Snape. He heeded the feeling and stole a glance over at the Potions Master, to see that Snape did not seem to like this new man very much. The man, however, seemed to be delighted to see Snape, and greeted him jovially.

“Severus!” He bounced over and seized Snape’s hand in one of his own, shaking it vigorously. Snape did not look at all happy. In fact, he looked like he’d swallowed something faintly resembling cold calamari that had previously been cooked the wrong way. Harry shuddered. Snape didn’t even look at him with that much disgust.

“Karkaroff.” Snape’s voice when he addressed the man before him, who Harry assumed was the Headmaster of Durmstrang, was much, much colder than Harry had ever heard it. He shivered again.

The Durmstrang students and their Headmaster all proceeded to ascend the stairs into the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts, Karkaroff looking rather put off. Harry wondered what he’d done to make Snape hate him so much. But then again Harry hadn’t ever done anything to Snape, and Snape hated him, so maybe Karkaroff was innocent, but Harry doubted that for some reason.

The Hogwarts students followed their guests into the Great Hall, sitting at their house tables, while the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons representatives chose Slytherin and Ravenclaw respectively.

Dumbledore took his place at the Head Table, standing and waiting for quiet. When it finally fell, he smiled welcomingly around at the foreign students in his midst and held out his arms as if to hug them all at a distance.

“To ladies, gentlemen, ghosts, and our lovely guests,” he said happily. “A very warm welcome and a good evening. I do very much hope you will all enjoy your stay at Hogwarts and will take comfort within her walls. As you all know, this wonderful get-together is, in the most part, because of the happening of the Triwizard Tournament. It will officially begin at the end of this welcoming feast, which I hope each and every person here will find delectable. Now, if you will, eat, drink, converse and make yourselves very much at home.” He sat and food appeared, prompting everyone to tuck in.

Shortly thereafter, Ludo Bagman and Mr. Crouch showed up, fashionably late and took their places on either side of Karkaroff and Madame Maxime. They must have been the other two judges, Harry reasoned, as he couldn’t think of any other reason why they would be there.

Dinner was soon finished, and Harry stuffed. Though, when he saw the mounds upon mounds of treacle tart that showed up next, he surmised that he was not quite stuffed enough and took several helpings.

When dessert was finally cleared from their plates as well, Dumbledore stood again, looking to the sharp eye to be slightly less thin than before. Smiling once more and spreading his arms again, he spoke to the suddenly silent room.

“It is time,” he said, as Filch brought out a wooden chest. “Here are your instructions, those who wish and are able to enter, and further details for those who are simply interested. There will be three tasks to complete within the tournament. Each will test the champions in different ways; their magical prowess, for example, their daring, their powers of deduction, and their ability to deal with dangerous situations.” The utter silence within the Great Hall deepened considerably. It seemed that each and every person in the room was holding their breath, waiting.

“And now,” Dumbledore continued, loudly, cheerfully, and rather obnoxiously if put into context. “It is time to introduce you all to the impartial judge that will choose the champions for each school; the Goblet of Fire.” With a creaky complaint from the chest, Dumbledore pulled out an unremarkable wooden cup that Harry thought was a bit too plain to be called a goblet. But there was something special about it. There were ice-blue flames leaping around in its depths.

“If you wish to be considered for your school’s champion,” Dumbledore explained. “You are to write your name and school on a scrap of parchment and place it within the Goblet. You have twenty-four hours to do so. At the end of our evening meal tomorrow, the Goblet will give back three names.” Dumbledore paused here and looked around at the Great Hall once more, this time in complete seriousness.

“I must insist that underage students not submit their names for consideration. Your attempts will be hindered, I assure you, but if you do manage to get past the protective magic I will be putting up, there is no turning back. The Goblet creates a binding magical contract. If you find yourself with second thoughts or cold feet, you will have to compete anyway. You cannot change your mind. Now, I do believe that it is quite time for bed.” That was their dismissal. They all rose and headed for the double doors at the front of the Great Hall. All except Harry. Harry went up to the Head Table, reluctantly following Snape out the door behind it.

Before either could get anywhere, Karkaroff rushed up to them. He glared at Harry, at first, but upon realizing who he was, he gaped like a dead fish.

“Can I help you, Igor?” Snape sneered in mock polite tones, though his voice was still colder than Harry had ever heard it before.

“Oh, yes, right.” Karkaroff’s head snapped up from Harry’s forehead to rest his eyes on Snape’s face instead. He opened his mouth to continue, but stopped just in time, it seemed, and narrowed his eyes once more on Harry. “Don’t you have friends to go pester?”

Harry smiled. He’d heard _a lot_ of that so far this year. He looked up at Snape with a sarcastically adoring look, saying, “I’d much rather pester my _favourite_ teacher _ever_.” Harry was proud to see Snape stiffen considerably. Karkaroff gave Harry a look that made him feel rather like a slug that’d been salted.

“Well,” the Durmstrang Headmaster said, wrinkling his nose. “I’ll just come back later, then, Severus, when you’re not being pestered.” Snape snorted in reply, expressing immense doubt that he would ever not be pestered, but Karkaroff took no notice and headed off back toward his ship and his students.

“Well, he’s nearly as pleasant as you are, Professor,” Harry told Snape as they set off down the stone stairs back to the dungeons.

“Watch it, Potter,” Snape replied. “You wouldn’t want your _favourite_ teacher _ever_ to make you fall down the stairs again, now would you?” Harry reluctantly fell silent, even though he was very curious about Karkaroff and what he had to say to Snape, alone. Gleefully, he created a scenario within his head that Snape and Karkaroff were secretly in love and acted like they hated each other to throw people off the track. He imagined a romantic dinner between the two, laughing as he gave all the mushy lines from bad movies to Snape.

“I’ve missed the joke, Potter,” Snape snapped at Harry’s chuckle. “What is so funny?” Harry grinned.

“Nothing, Professor,” he said cheekily. “Nothing at all.” By way of retaliation, Snape quickened his pace and when they got to his door, he stepped once to the right. Harry couldn’t move to Snape’s other side quick enough and ended up running into the stone wall with a thud.

“Ow,” he moaned. Snape laughed, but unless his ears were deceiving him, Harry thought it sounded false. He ended up thinking about Karkaroff again, and Snape’s tone toward the Durmstrang Headmaster. _That_ most certainly didn’t seem false. Harry’s curiosity jumped into hyper-drive.

That night, Harry stayed up to study Snape while he read. He didn’t do so openly; he pretended to be doing his homework. Snape, Harry deduced eventually, did not seem to be fooled, but he didn’t do anything about it, which made Harry highly suspicious of him.

Around curfew, Karkaroff’s head appeared in the fire, the flames going emerald green. Harry jumped about a foot in the air at suddenly finding someone speaking who wasn’t there a second before, but he quickly recovered upon seeing who it was. Maybe he would get to satisfy some of his curiosity. It seemed, however, that Karkaroff had noticed Harry the moment his head had popped into the fire. He tsked.

“Are you allowed to entertain students in your rooms now, Severus?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, like and unlike Snape at the same time. Harry grinned and lounged luxuriously in his chair.

“Jealous?” he wondered with a wink. He hoped he wasn’t blushing. That would ruin the effect. Apparently he’d pulled it off, though, because both Karkaroff and Snape glared at him angrily and with much disgust.

“I will return when you’re not… ah… _busy_ ,” Karkaroff growled, and his head disappeared. Snape immediately stood, uncharacteristically tossing his book aside as if it were nothing. He grabbed the front of Harry’s robes, scattering the boy’s un-started homework everywhere.

“Do _not_ give that man a reason to dislike you, Potter,” Snape snarled, his nose only inches from Harry’s, his cold breath washing over Harry’s face. To Harry’s surprise, it didn’t smell bad, but instead like mint. He didn’t have long to notice this, though, because curiosity was taking over his brain again.

“Why not?” he asked quietly. With an exasperated sigh, Snape released him and he flumped back onto the chair he’d been sitting on before, crumpling quite a few bits of parchment beneath him. Snape ran a frustrated hand through his black hair.

“Igor Karkaroff was once a Death Eater, Potter,” he said, pacing. Harry might have thought Snape had forgotten he was here, had the Potions Master not addressed him. “He got out of being holed up in Azkaban for the rest of his life by giving out names of other Death Eaters who’d not been caught yet, saying he’d changed his ways and realized his mistakes. But, Potter, any man can lie, especially to save his own skin.” Snape paused, looking at Harry to find that his mouth was hanging open and he’d gone slightly pale. Snape smirked and continued.

“Karkaroff runs his school like a place to learn the Dark Arts. It’s nothing against his students, but under his guidance, most of them become Dark Wizards. He figures he can make up for the Death Eaters he turned in by making new ones, younger ones for the Dark Lord. He is no doubt wrong. If ever a Death Eater has the chance to kill him, they will. But he would do the same to anyone he deems an enemy, and he would do it in such a way that he would not be caught, so _watch your tongue_ , Potter, and _behave_.”

Harry gulped and thought this over for a bit. Finally, he worked up all his courage and tried not to remind himself that he was alone with Snape, and asked a question.

“Do you hate him so much because he’s a Dark Wizard, or because he turned in other Death Eaters?” To Harry’s great surprise (and relief) Snape did not attack or yell or scream or even glare. Instead he laughed, a cruel mirthless laugh, granted, but still a laugh.

“You don’t trust me, Potter?” he sneered. Harry gulped and shook his head once. Snape smirked at him. “Perhaps you’re not as stupid as I’d once thought.” With that Snape headed to his room, Harry forced to follow, and they went to bed.

Harry had nightmares again that night, this time about Death Eaters, Dark Wizards in Training, and what Snape had meant by saying Harry wasn’t stupid not to trust him…

  
Breakfast the next morning was very loud and exciting. All the people who wanted to get into the Triwizard Tournament were entering their names, the flames in the Goblet swallowing their parchment up amid cheers and boo's.

The entire ship-full of Durmstrang students, lead proudly in by Karkaroff, each entered their names one by one. Just like at the arrival last night, several girls screamed and clung to each other when Viktor Krum put forth his parchment. The Goblet seemed to like his name particularly well.

The Beauxbatons lot came after them, each curtsying or bowing to the Goblet after putting in their name, and then to their Headmistress before taking their seats at the Ravenclaw table. Several people rolled their eyes at the French students.

Soon after that, Warrington, from Slytherin, who looked rather like a sloth, put in his name for Hogwarts. There were a few cheers, mostly from his own house, but many more boos, mostly from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Harry decided he like the Hufflepuffs. They had good sense.

After Warrington, came Angelina Johnson. There was a lot more cheering for her, and she took her seat at the Gryffindor table looking kind of embarrassed, but proud. Then was Cedric Diggory, for whom a tumult of sound erupted from the Hufflepuff table. Harry clapped politely, but he hoped Angelina got it, not Diggory.

The day passed with absolutely no event. Harry followed Snape around while the Potions Master worked in the dungeons. Harry guessed he was trying to invent something, because he seemed to think about each ingredient before putting it in.

Later, Harry somehow convinced Snape to ‘take a break’ and let him out on the grounds. Harry had no idea how he managed it, but he also got to visit Hagrid with Ron and Hermione. Even if the visit was only about five minutes long, it was still a visit, and Harry was glad of it.

They hung out by the lake for a while, Snape looking extremely bored, while Harry tickled the Giant Squid until it rose completely to the surface and spit at him, a trick he’d learned from Fred and George. Harry dodged the squid’s spit and it hit Snape instead, drenching him in slimy greenish goo. He was not amused.

After going back to the dungeons so that Snape could wash and change, they went back to the professor’s beloved potions. Harry asked lots of questions. He didn’t mean to be annoying, he just wanted to know what was going on and why stuff did what it did and what Snape was making and why he needed to make it and what the big deal was about how you stirred and all that. So that Snape could escape Harry’s constant chattering and pestering, they went back outside.

Finally, it was time for dinner and Snape and Harry went quickly to the Great Hall, taking their seats at their respective tables. Harry was excited to see who the Hogwarts champion would be, and while everyone was getting seated and comfortable, he guessed who it would be with Ron and Hermione in hushed tones.

When everybody was in their rightful place, Dumbledore rose and silence fell.

“The time has come,” he said in his booming voice. “To discover the champions for our three schools.” He walked around the Head Table, slowly to increase suspense and to hold them all on the edges of their seats. Finally he reached the Goblet and extinguished all the candles in the entire Great Hall. They waited in silence.

With a roar, the Goblet’s leaping flames turned from ice-blue to a bright red and a charred scrap of parchment flew into the air. Deftly, Dumbledore caught it and read, “For Durmstrang, Viktor Krum.” There was an outbreak of applause as Krum stood and went up to Dumbledore, who pointed him in the right direction. Girls were screaming again, and Harry didn’t have to look to know they were clinging to each other once more. The Goblet’s fire went back to blue. Silence.

Another roar and the fire was red again. Dumbledore caught the paper that shot forth and announced that the champion for Beauxbatons was Fleur Delacour. A very, very beautiful girl with silver-blonde hair rose from the Ravenclaw table and followed in Krum’s footsteps amid her own uproar of cheers. The silence fell again, this time much more heavy. The last parchment burst into the sky, only to be captured again by Dumbledore’s old hand.

“Hogwarts,” he said, looking up from the paper to beam at the Great Hall. “Cedric Diggory.” The entire Hufflepuff table leapt to its feet, screaming at the top of their lungs as Diggory walked up to Dumbledore, blushing. After Diggory had disappeared after the other two champions, Dumbledore addressed the room.

“One last cheer for good luck!” Everyone screamed and clapped and there were shouts of “Go Durmstrang!” and “Go Beauxbatons!” and “Go Hogwarts!” and even a few “Go Krum!”s, as if he were his own school. But the din was stopped abruptly by another roar from the Goblet as its fire went red again. Everybody stared at it in shock, even Dumbledore, who’d lost his twinkle. There were only supposed to be three champions. As if it were a reflex for him, Dumbledore reached up and caught the paper that was slowly floating to Earth.

“ _Harry Potter_.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. He paled slightly. He hadn’t put his name in. How could his name come out if he hadn’t put it in?

Hermione pushed Harry to his feet while Ron asked him, shocked, how he’d done it. Harry insisted he hadn’t done it. He hadn’t done anything. Hermione urged him forward and he obeyed her in a daze. What was happening? People were glaring at him, mostly Hufflepuffs and foreigners. He tried to ignore them. He didn’t deserve to be glared at. He didn’t do it.

In a numb haze, he followed Dumbledore’s directions to the room off the Hall, trailed after by Snape, and they joined the other three champions. No, the only three champions, Harry corrected himself. He didn’t count. He couldn’t count. Could he?

Shortly, Dumbledore, Madame Maxime, Karkaroff, Bagman, and Crouch came in. They seemed to be in the middle of a heated argument.

“…The real question is: how did Harry’s name get into the Goblet?” Dumbledore was saying.

“Nonsense, Dumbly-Dorr,” Madame Maxime countered. “’Ze Potter boy must ‘ave put ‘is name in ze Goblet; ’e must ‘ave found a way past your Age Line.”

“Of course he didn’t,” Snape snapped at her. “I would have had to have come with him.” He grabbed his charmed necklace and shot a nasty look at Dumbledore.

“’Ow do we know you are not lying for ‘im?” Madame Maxime insisted. “’Ow do we know you did not put ‘is name in ze goblet for ‘im?”

“We hate each other,” said Snape and Harry together, glaring first at Madam Maxime and then at Dumbledore, whose blue eyes, once again, were twinkling with amusement.

“At least, currently they do,” he explained. “Notice how the charms have ‘Best Friends’ written on them.”

“And they’re pink,” Snape growled through gritted teeth.

“Yes,” replied Dumbledore, smiling brightly. “A rather lovely shade, if I do say so myself.”

“The colour of those necklaces is not the issue here,” Mr. Crouch snapped at them, calling them back to the task at hand. “Potter,” he barked. “How did you get your name into the Goblet of Fire?”

“I – I didn’t,” Harry stuttered, gulping. Everyone was staring at him again, and it was making him uncomfortable and nervous. Much as he hated to admit it, Snape’s calm presence at his shoulder helped to sooth him.

“Well,” said Mr. Crouch with a sigh. “The rules must be upheld, which means that Potter must compete. His name came out of the Goblet and he is bonded by magic to enter into the Tournament. There is no choice.”

“But surely Hogwarts cannot have two champions,” Karkaroff spoke up. “Surely there are rules about _that_?”

“The magic cannot be broken,” Mr. Crouch answered.

“Fine.” Karkaroff smiled. “Then we will do it all again, so that we can have two champions as well.”

“The Goblet believes its job done for now, Igor,” Mr. Crouch pointed out. “It won’t select another champion ‘til the next Tournament. There is no way around this. There will be four champions this time around.”

“No way around it, is there?” Snape snarled. Harry looked up at his professor, who he found was glaring at Karkaroff. “Because of a binding magical contract? Convenient, wouldn’t you say, Igor?”

“Convenient, Severus?” Karkaroff repeated, loosing his friendliness toward Snape.

“Yes, convenient,” Snape confirmed. “That Potter cannot back out. _Someone_ put his name in the Goblet, knowing that he would have no choice to turn back if it came out again.”

“Yes!” Madame Maxime agreed angrily. “Someone ‘oo wanted ‘Ogwarts to win so badly they gave ‘er two champions!”

“Quite!” Karkaroff agreed. “And I promise you I’ll be complaining –”

“You’ve no right to complain,” Snape interrupted. “If anyone does, it’s Potter, being forced again into danger. I wonder _who_ would do that?”

“Severus,” Dumbledore warned quietly. “This discussion does not seem to me to be getting us any closer to a solution. Mr. Crouch is right. The rules are magically binding and cannot be broken. Harry must compete. I apologize, but there is no choice in the matter. Mr. Crouch, if you will.” He stepped back, and Mr. Crouch took his place at the forefront of the group.

“The first task of this Tournament will test daring,” he said. “You will not be forewarned as to what exactly this task is; you will be forced to act in the face of the unknown. Such courage is important in a witch or wizard. The task will be in November, the twenty-fourth to be exact, in front of the other students and the judges.” He gestured to himself and Ludo and the Heads.

“You each are allowed no help, whether it is offered or not. You will be armed only with your wand, nothing else. You will receive a clue about the second task after completing the first one. Oh yes, and you are all exempt from exams.”

With that, Madame Maxime exited with Fleur, both chattering on in French, and they were followed out by Karkaroff and Krum. Dumbledore bid them good night, but they seemed not to notice. Ludo and Crouch left shortly after and Snape, Dumbledore, Harry, and Cedric were left.

“You two had best get to bed,” Dumbledore told Harry and Cedric. They nodded and left, led by Snape, walking side by side down the stairs to the dungeons. Cedric soon took a right toward the kitchens while Snape and Harry continued straight and down much farther.

“Someone’s trying to kill you, Potter, and make it look like an accident,” Snape told Harry when they were in the privacy of the dungeons.

“So what else is new?” Harry replied sarcastically. That only prompted Snape to take hold of his robes again.

“Take this seriously, Potter!” he snapped. “The Triwizard Tournament is known for its difficulty, and for the injuries it causes the competitors.” Harry gulped and pried Snape’s fingers from his robes.

“All right, all right,” he said. Then, after a pause, he added, “Do you think it was Karkaroff?”

“I find it unlikely. He was very upset that you’d gotten in.”

“Any man can lie to save his own skin,” Harry quoted. Snape raised an eyebrow at him, looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

“I suppose it is a possibility,” he admitted. Harry grinned, but it was wiped off again when he had to go to bed, Snape on the other side of the curtain. The dungeons still spooked him, and now that he knew there was someone out to kill him, again, his nightmares were even worse.

Harry woke up with a headache and groaned loudly, rubbing his eyes and rolling over, burying his head in his squished pillow. There was a soft plunk as something was set down on his bedside table. Harry didn’t bother to look to see what it was. He only moaned again. His head hurt.

“It’s a pain potion, Potter,” said Snape’s voice softly. “Get up and drink it; we’re not staying here all day.” Harry peeked out from under his pillow.

“I thought that’s what you did on weekends,” he mumbled. Snape smirked.

“I have work to do,” he replied. “And you’ll want breakfast, will you not?” Harry groaned one more time before forcing his body to work and pulling himself into a sitting position to drink the potion Snape had put on his table. It tasted so horrible Harry nearly spit it out. It was worse than Skele-Gro.

“How long does it take to work?” Harry asked, falling back onto the bed with a huff. Snape didn’t answer and Harry was about to ask again, but then his head stopped hurting.  
“That long,” Snape told him. Harry rolled his eyes and got dressed while Snape waited for him, leaning on the doorframe with his arms folded and his eyebrow raised.

When Harry had all his clothes on, the two of them headed out, and up the many stairs to the Great Hall, where they gratefully separated and Harry sat with his friends at Gryffindor, Snape grumpily at the Head Table.

Harry had only been sitting, enjoying his breakfast and his time with Ron and Hermione for a few seconds, before Hagrid came into the hall from the doors at the front and not the one behind the Head Table, like usual. He headed over to the Gryffindor Table to stand in front of Harry.

“Um, Harry, I need ter talk ter yeh,” he said. It seemed he might have been trying to whisper, but he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. Harry grimaced slightly, wondering why Hagrid would need to whisper. He hoped he wasn’t going to offer help or something. But then again, Harry could definitely use some, even if it did come from Hagrid.

“Okay,” he answered, with a glance at Snape, who looked kind of revolted. Apparently he hadn’t enjoyed the last visit with Hagrid.

“Can yeh come ter my hut after dinner?” Hagrid asked, again in that whisper-that-wasn’t. With another grimace, Harry nodded. He looked again at Snape, who was glaring at him. Oh well, Harry thought. He’d just have to deal, wouldn’t he?

“Yeah, I’ll be there, Hagrid.”

“Good.”

The day passed in a blur to Harry. He hardly noticed anything that went on around him. The whole day he was thinking solely about what in the world could be so important that Hagrid wanted to talk to him about it, but obviously didn’t want anyone to know, hence the whispering-that-wasn’t.

Snape seemed preoccupied as well, if Harry knew anything about him. Snape seemed to only work on potions that had really long simmering periods and when they were bubbling away softly, he paced around them, arms folded and wand always out, hanging limply from two fingers like a long forgotten cigarette.

Finally, dinner arrived and Harry, noticing that Hagrid wasn’t there and figuring the bearded giant was already waiting for him, gulped down his food in a rush. Snape never ate much, so it didn’t take long for them to make their exit.

It did take long, however, for Harry to convince Snape to let him meet Hagrid. Harry came up with many valid points, including the fact that Hagrid was his friend and Snape would be there even if something did go wrong, they’d already eaten dinner, Snape had finished all his scheduled potions to work on that day, and Harry didn’t have any homework. (Looking back on the conversation later, Harry guessed it was the closest he would ever come to arguing with a parent to let him go out on a school night.) Eventually, Snape yielded, and they marched swiftly out onto the grounds.

Hagrid was waiting for them at the door. He glanced once at Harry, once at Snape, and then focused back on Harry again.

“Did yeh bring yer Invisibility Cloak, Harry?” he asked, once again using his whisper-that-wasn’t. Harry flushed, aiming a sideways sheepish glance at Snape through the corners of his eyes.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, quickly concentrating his gaze on the ground when Snape raised an eyebrow at him, as if to say, “Well that explains a lot.” At this thought, Harry’s blush deepened. Silently, he and his professor followed Hagrid into the giant’s hut.

“Yer gonna need that cloak, Harry,” Hagrid not-whispered. “Yeh should prob’ly tell ol’ Snape about it, too, I reckon.” Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose with a nervous chuckle.

“Pretty sure he already knows, Hagrid.”

“Oh, well, that’ll make things a bit easier, then,” Hagrid replied, dropping the not-whisper he’d been using. “We on’y have a bit longer ter wait.” Harry lifted his head, discarding his sheepishness and embarrassment immediately.  
“A bit longer to wait for _what_ , Hagrid?” he wondered. Hagrid fiddled with his beard.

“Jus’ a bit longer,” he repeated. Harry impatiently bit back another curious remark and instead focused all his attention on the door. Only about five minutes later, there was a very loud knock on it.

“’Agrid? ‘Agrid, what is eet you wanted to show me?” Harry couldn’t help but throw a brief glare in Hagrid’s direction at finding out the giant had also invited Madame Maxime to this thing, but the look went unnoticed, except maybe by Snape, because Hagrid was no longer paying any attention what-so-ever to Harry.

“Yer cloak, Harry, yer cloak.” Okay, so maybe a little bit of attention, Harry thought grudgingly, but not much. Grumbling quietly under his breath, Harry pulled his cloak from the pocket of his robes and rose from his seat to twirl the silky silver fabric around both him and Snape.

“Olympe!” Hagrid greeted his big-boned guest. “I hope yer well?”

“Yes, ‘Agrid, very. ‘Ow are you?” Madam Maxime linked arms with Hagrid and the two set of over the grounds toward the forest, the topmost leaves of the trees sparkling eerie silver in the moonlight. Harry and Snape followed.

It seemed to take forever to reach their destination, having to listen to Hagrid’s unbearably badly disguised flirtation attempts, and to hear Madame Maxime croon over them despite their horribleness. But finally, after what seemed like several very long, annoying hours, they entered a small clearing.

The clearing seemed oddly bright to Harry, and it took him a while to take in his surroundings. Only when he heard Hagrid ask Madame Maxime if she wanted to get closer did he begin to think that those huge fire breathing things could be dragons. It only took one word (“Charlie”) to confirm his conclusion. He felt rather cold all of the sudden, despite the heat coming in waves from the clearing before him. Quickly, he lead the way back to the castle, and then down to the dungeons.

Once there, Harry collapsed onto one of Snape’s armchairs, letting out every last drop of air he had in him as he did so. His entire body felt weak, his muscles like feathers, his bones jelly, and his aching head heavy as lead.

“Dragons,” he breathed in shock and fear.

“No shit, Potter,” Snape replied rudely.

Harry would’ve slept that night, he really would have, but the dungeons spooked him and someone was trying to get him killed, and if there were dragons involved, he couldn’t help but think they were going to do a damn good job of it.


	4. Mama Dragon

A sharp knock at the door roused Severus from a light slumber. Grumbling sleepily, Severus slid gracefully from bed and pulled aside the curtain separating the two halves of his room. The metal rings scrapped loudly against the bar holding up them and the heavy green velvet.

Potter was sleeping soundly in his bed, unmoving and undisturbed by the knocking. Severus stood there for a moment, watching the young Gryffindor silently sleep as he tried to figure out how to answer the door without waking Potter up. Finally, Severus reluctantly pulled his wand from the pocket of his pyjamas and unlocked the door from where he stood.

 _Clunk, clunk, clunk._

Severus rolled his eyes. He should have known it was Moody. Who else would mercilessly beat an unsuspecting door in the middle of the night?

Moody slowly came into Severus’s line of sight, clunking all the way, partially supporting himself on a gnarled old walking cane. He rested his arms on the cane when he came to a halt, leaning forward toward Severus. The two stared at each other for a while, but it was a short-lived while. Severus was not often very patient with people who interrupted his sleep.

“Can I _help_ you, Moody?” Severus asked coldly. Moody’s wrinkled lips curved up in a rather mutated-looking smirk.

“Yeah, Snape, pretty sure you can.” But he didn’t elaborate. After a full minute of waiting, Severus growled, “ _How_ , exactly?” Moody’s smirk grew a considerable amount.

“Tell Potter to play to his strengths,” the ex-Auror answered.

“What strengths?” Severus replied, forcing a humourless chuckle.

“Flying,” Moody stated with a glare. Severus raised an eyebrow, refusing to acknowledge that Moody’s plan was clever.

“Tell him,” Moody repeated. He nodded once for emphasis and then left as quickly as he was able with his heavy wooden leg, taking a swig from his hip flask as he went.

 _Clunk, clunk, clunk._

Grumbling again, Severus crossed back over to his side of the room, pulling the curtain closed again (more quietly this time) and climbed back into bed.

Harry awoke very, very early in the morning. It was still dark. Harry silently decided he was glad he’d woken. He’d been having horrible nightmares all night, mostly of dragons ridden and commanded by Lord Voldemort. Slowly, Harry came into full consciousness and took in his surroundings.

Snape’s rooms looked exactly as they always had, and yet something seemed different to Harry. He sat up, glancing around the room twice, checking for anything out of place. Nothing caught his eye. Harry slid out of bed, making as little noise as possible and padded lightly over to the green curtain separating the two halves of the room. He peered around the edge to find his Potions professor silently lying in bed. All was fine there.

Harry slipped back fully into his side of the room. He looked around again. Something was off, he just knew it; there just wasn’t anything tangible as far as he could tell.

With effort, Harry shrugged off his feeling of unease and climbed quietly back into bed.

“Harry, what are you doing?” Granger demanded. “You’re certainly _not_ paying attention.” Potter jumped at the know-it-all’s harsh tone and looked at her.

“I’m thinking ‘Mione,” he mumbled, his voice quiet and gentle.

“About what?” Granger pressed him. She looked like she didn’t believe him. Potter rolled his eyes and turned to face McGonagall as she lectured her class.

“Stuff.” Potter’s eyes slowly went back out of focus. He obviously wasn’t paying attention, just as Granger had accused him. No wonder he never knew what he was doing in class. Granger punched him in the shoulder. “Ouch! What?”

“What stuff?” Granger hissed. Potter shrugged, mumbling, “Just stuff.” Granger rolled her eyes, just as Severus longed to do. Instead, he pushed off from the wall he was leaning on to stand silently behind Weasley. It appeared Granger was about to ask her question again. Sighing exasperatedly, Severus answered it.

“He’s thinking about the dragons.” Potter rubbed the back of his neck, a tell-tale sign that he’d been caught, Severus knew from experience. Granger was looking back and forth between Potter and Severus, while Weasley gaped up at him like an idiot, having not noticed he’d been practically breathing over his shoulder. Severus did that. He was either lurking in the shadows or lurking right behind you. Either way, you never knew he was there until it was too late. It came in handy, that.

“What dragons?” Granger asked Potter. Weasley finally managed to pull his gaze away from Severus’s looming figure, to instead point his gape at Potter, waiting for an answer. Potter swallowed, looked away, and then looked back again. He was obviously reluctant to tell his friends about his Task. He swallowed again. Then coughed.

“The dragons for the…” Potter lowered his voice, glancing around to make sure no one was listening in. “…the first Task.” Granger gasped and covered her mouth with shaking hands. Severus rolled his eyes at her over-dramatic reaction. Weasley still just gaped blankly. Potter smiled softly at the redheaded menace. “Yeah,” he said. “Your brother’s here. Charlie. If you wanted to visit…”

“But – but, Harry,” Granger whispered, her voice shaking worse than her hands. “Harry, what are you going to do?” Potter shrugged and looked back at the front of the room again. _“Harry!”_ Granger scolded him.

“Look, Hermione,” Potter snapped at her. “I don’t know, okay. I’ll – I’ll figure something out.” None of the three noticed that Severus had sat down in a desk he’d conjured behind them. They didn’t hear his quiet clear of the throat, and they didn’t see him roll his eyes. They didn’t hear the sigh, either, nor did they notice his reluctance as he spoke. He hated that what he was about to say had come from Moody. He hated Moody.

“It’s really quite simple, Potter,” he hissed in his deep voice. “All you have to do is play to your strengths.” All three of the Golden Trio turned to stare at him now. They all had blank looks plastered on to their faces, as if he’d spoken in some other tongue. He rolled his eyes again. “What is it that you are best at, Mr. Potter?” Potter swallowed, cleared his throat, looked away.

“Um… flying…” he mumbled.

“Precisely,” Severus replied. Potter and Weasley still only stared blankly, while Granger’s face lit up and she smiled, saying, “That’s brilliant, Professor.” Severus pretended the compliment had not been voiced. He kept his gaze on Potter, waiting. Besides, what was Granger, anyway? What did she know about brilliance?

Severus sat quietly behind the Golden Trio and their Golden Boy, leaning back in his chair, arms folded, scowl firmly in place, as Granger leaned in to whisper an explanation to the two dim-witted boys. He sighed again, retreating to his own thoughts. He was pulled back to the Transfiguration classroom by McGonagall’s voice, scolding the Trio for their inattentiveness. He allowed a smirk to come across his lips as they lost points. Perhaps the day would not be a complete loss, after all.

Severus almost regretted telling them to use Potter’s strengths later. He was forced to endure hours upon hours of Granger trying (and failing) to teach Potter how to perform a proper Summoning Charm. Severus sighed. At least he only had to put up with the three of them. Each night Potter practiced with Granger, he’d be too tired (and Severus too annoyed) to go back to Gryffindor Tower to visit with the others. The two of them would leave for the dungeons immediately after Potter’s lesson.

They not always went straight to the split bedroom, though. Sometimes (usually when Potter had homework) they would sit in Severus’s (in his opinion) sorry excuse for a living room and Severus would read while Potter would try (failing nearly as bad as Granger at teaching) to write a halfway decent essay for some class or other. Potter always sat as close as he could to the fireplace without moving any of Severus’s furniture. Severus always sat on the opposite side of the room, in the opposite direction and in the opposite type of chair, just for extra measure. He could never be separated enough from Potter. They both ignored each other.

School, practice, homework, bed. Always the same, every weekday. On weekends it differed only slightly, and not for the better. Time outdoors, practice, time with Potter’s friends, practice, time outdoors with Potter’s friends practicing, drinks and inappropriate teenage jokes in Gryffindor Tower, practice, homework, bed. And despite all the practicing and his supposed good marks in Charms, Potter wasn’t getting any better at Summoning things magically.

School, practice, homework, bed. School, practice, homework, bed. School, practice, homework, bed. It was a very tedious schedule, especially since Severus wasn’t taking part in any of it. There was nothing for him to do during school, other than insult Potter. However, at times, Potter was not available for insulting, such as when the class was being lectured or writing down notes and there was no opportunity. During Potter’s practicing, Granger taught, Weasley insulted, Granger got frustrated and lost her head, Weasley calmed her down, Peeves unnecessarily complicated things, Potter yelled. Again, nothing for Severus to do. At least for Potter’s homework, Severus could sit comfortably in his quarters, but then again, you could only read so many books so many times. Then there was bed, and Severus was finding that he couldn’t sleep. Something was not right. He could feel it. Something was off, keeping him from doing his job to the full potential. Something unsafe. It kept him up at night, every night.

School, practice, homework, bed. Boredom, annoyance, tedium, insomnia. Finally, Severus was fed up.

Harry didn’t know what made Snape do it. It had been a perfectly normal weekday. Hermione had been helping him with Summoning Charms while Ron relaxed far out of their way, just like any other day. Snape had been leaning on the doorframe, already unable to wait for an opportunity to pull Harry roughly away from his friends. And then all of the sudden, he wasn’t. He was standing in front of Harry and he looked furious. And then he’d taken both Ron and Hermione’s wands and he was firing curses at Harry as if they were duelling and Harry was loosing horribly.

“Summon something to protect yourself with, Potter,” Snape snapped, while still firing off nonverbal curse after nonverbal curse, missing Harry by a hair each time. Harry swallowed hard and raised his wand to obey.

 _“Acc –”_ His words were cut short and he felt his magic snap away from the trash bin he’d been concentrating on.

“Faster,” Snape berated him, as another curse shot from his wand.

 _“Accio –”_

“Faster!” Another curse. Harry yelped and jumped back as he saw that the curse’s light was green.

 _“Accio chair!”_ he cried desperately as yet another green curse shot toward him. The chair he’d pointed his wand at flew into his hands. He and the green curse caught it at the same time and it burst into flames in his hands. He dropped it with another yelp, but was left unharmed.

“Finally,” Snape growled. The man put away his wand and went back to the doorframe, leaning on it casually once again. From there, he tossed Ron and Hermione their wands back and instructed Hermione to continue with her lesson.

Not once after that did Harry fail to Summon an object.

Two weeks later, the first Task didn’t seem quite so far away anymore. It also seemed like a much bigger deal. Everyone was talking about it again. It seemed to Harry that everyone was conspiring against him to make him as nervous as possible, as he seemed to be somehow overhearing every Triwizard Tournament conversation. There were so many people wondering what the Task would be, how the champions would fare, how harsh the judges would be. But then again, there were some that seemed to know. And then there were others. Others that _definitely_ knew.

“Dragons, Fleur? Are you sure?”

“Yes. That ‘Agrid showed Madame Maxime. She told me.” Harry pretended not to hear and sped up his pace, going about the same speed as Snape now. He didn’t want Hagrid to get into trouble.

“Ah, dragons. Vot are they anyway? You beat ‘em at Quidditch, Viktor, you can beat a real von!” Harry walked even faster, now overtaking Snape by one or two strides. Snape raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing as they entered the Great Hall for breakfast. Snape set off toward the Head Table without a word or backward glance and Harry slid up the isle between the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables. He halted as another snatch of conversation found its way to his ears.

“You really have no idea, Ced?” a girl was asking the brown-haired seventh year next to her breathlessly. “They didn’t give you any clues or _anything?_ ” Cedric shook his head with a shrug.

“Nope,” he said, sounding like he didn’t really care. He shrugged again. “What’s the big deal?” he wondered. “I mean, it’s not like the other three know and I don’t.” Before he could even think about stopping himself, Harry let out a hysterical sounding laugh. The Hufflepuffs all looked up from their conversation, all of them but Cedric glaring heatedly at him. He scrunched his face up in nervousness, embarrassment, and to protect his eyes from the blinding intensity of the glares directed at him. He rubbed the back of his head, mussing his hair.

“I need to talk to you,” he mumbled to Cedric, trying his best to avoid the eyes of all the other Hufflepuffs surrounding him. Cedric gave Harry a funny look.

“Alright,” he said slowly, drawing out the word and then ending it with a question mark. He prompted Harry further with his eyes and Harry rubbed the back of his head again, shoulders stiff with discomfort.

“Er, alone,” he said. “Please.” That earned him another funny look, but Cedric rose from his table and the two of them headed for the door. It was only about three steps away that Harry remembered how the necklaces binding him and Snape together would keep him from exiting the room without his Potions professor. He groaned. Cedric stopped short and looked back.

“What?” he demanded. Harry shifted on his feet, uncomfortable again.

“I can’t leave the room,” he muttered bitterly, subconsciously wrapping an annoyed hand around the half-heart shaped charm around his neck. Yet another funny look was given, but Cedric – though seemingly reluctantly – stepped back into the Great Hall and put a Silencing Charm around them.

“Dragons,” Harry said immediately, without even the slightest hint of hesitation. Cedric needed to know, and obviously no one else was going to tell him. Cedric blinked a few times in shock before repeating Harry’s one word in the form of a question, confused. Harry nodded. “Yeah, Cedric, dragons. Fleur and Krum already know. You’re the only one who didn’t. Now you do. Now it’s fair.”

Cedric seemed to blink himself to life, but he soon was standing taller than before, looking determined, and with a grim, hard smile on his face. He nodded once to Harry, thanking him, and then took down his Silencing Charm. Harry nodded as well, saying “You’re welcome,” back and they both headed back to their tables and their friends.

Breakfast after that was, mercifully, just breakfast.

“That was intelligent, Mr. Potter,” Snape sneered when they exited the Great Hall to go to Harry’s classes. Harry glared at him.

“Shut up, Snape,” he snapped. “It was fair.”

“It lost you an advantage,” Snape argued. “And Merlin knows you need all the advantages you can get to win.” Harry’s glare only intensified.

“I don’t even want to be in this stupid tournament,” he growled quietly. “Why would I be worried about winning it?”

All throughout the week, Harry practiced his Summoning Charms, even though he didn’t need to. But he had to do something in preparation, just to calm his nerves, however minor or temporary the calming was. He did a lot of pacing on his side of the room while Snape slept. Or pretended to sleep. You could never tell with Dungeon Bats. And Harry had always suspected that Snape was a vampire or something. The great git had to be some sort of nocturnal in any case. It was just the natural order of things.

Harry found he was wishing more and more frequently that he was like Snape. Mostly just for the nocturnal-ness. Well, completely for the nocturnal-ness, really. Not much else about the Potions Master was worth anything. But Harry did wish he was nocturnal. He’d started staying up all night, anyway, but he couldn’t sleep in the day. It was too bright. Not that he’d be allowed to skip class or anything, but it could be nice to have a legitimate excuse not to greet the dawn with bleary eyes and yawns and having to force down breakfast. Harry shuddered. Ugh, breakfast. There was a time, long ago, when breakfast had been Harry’s favourite time of day, aside from dessert. Not anymore. Now he felt too queasy, and it was too early.

It was Friday, and Harry suddenly realized he very much hated Fridays. Fridays meant that tomorrow was Saturday, which meant that tomorrow he would have to fight a bloody dragon. It was also breakfast. Breakfast on Friday. Why was the world such a horrible place?

 _“Accio butter,”_ Harry muttered, chewing on his lip. The butter, complete with dish, soared into his hand and he caught it, without getting any butter on himself, even. Harry set the butter down and sighed. He passed the butter to Ron, when the redhead asked for it.

 _“Accio bacon,”_ Harry said next, to the same results, only this time Seamus was the one who asked for the greasy breakfast meat a second later. Harry chewed his lip some more. He sighed. Hermione tried to comfort him. It didn’t work. Today was Friday. Nothing would make him feel better.

Harry didn’t sleep that night. Not that he’d been doing much sleeping other nights, but tonight was especially sleepless. Harry sniffed his pillow morosely, taking only small comfort from its sharply spicy clean sweat and firewood scent. The dungeons were still creepy, and Snape was definitely nocturnal and probably a vampire and would most likely enjoy sucking Harry’s blood in a very cruel fashion, and it was Friday night, and tomorrow was Saturday, and he had to fight dragons. Harry shivered violently and rolled over, burying his face in his pillow in a lame attempt to banish everything else in the world from his brain. If only brains were as affected by pillows as noses were.

But he had to get out of bed. He knew he had to. It wasn’t an option to sleep in tomorrow. Harry sat up. He needed to stop thinking about how he was probably going to die. He needed to think about something more productive; something that would motivate him to get up…

Harry lay back down; burying his face in musky pillow again, snuffling. Hmm… He could think about Snape. Snape was creepy enough to make him jittery. Nobody could stay in bed when they were jittery. It was another one of those laws of the universe; it was just the way things went.

So, Harry thought. Snape was obviously nocturnal. Obviously. Law of the Universe Number One, that was. But why? Why did Snape not sleep at night? There was the vampire theory, of course, of which most students were familiar. There was the male-prostitute-by-night-with-a-special-hollogram-type-thing-to-stalk-the-halls theory, but that was mostly only popular with second and third year girls. Usually the giggly ones. Then there was the tried and tested doesn’t-need-to-sleep-because-he-lives-off-of-the-fear-of-inoccent-teenagers theory to fall back on. That was Harry’s personal favourite. But it was boring.

The rest of them were pretty boring, too, after having never changed over four years. Well, except the prostitute one. That always changed. But it was insanely impossible, not to mention incredibly wrong, on so many levels. First of all, since when did Snape have sex? With anybody, for any reason? And secondly, since when were hologram-type-things so completely solid that they could throw stuff at you and drag you by your ear back to Gryffindor Tower? And most importantly, who in their right mind would pay to sleep with Snape? Hell, who in their not-so-right mind would pay to sleep with Snape? I mean, Merlin, not even Hagrid could have taste _that_ bad…

That, Harry decided, was wrong on even more levels than Snape being a prostitute. He shuddered violently at the thought of Hagrid and Snape and struggled to keep his gag reflex in check. With another shudder, Harry crawled out of bed, rubbing his face violently, and no longer wishing pillows were as effective on brains as on noses. Instead, he wished bleach were as effective on memories as on stains. He headed into the kitchen, munching on one of Snape’s favourite apples, to wait for the Potions Master to get up.

Albus Dumbledore, Severus realized as he sat silently next to his headmaster, should be hated a despised by all. As well as being cruel to his teachers for his own amusement, Albus allowed his students to take part in, not only dangerous sports such as Quidditch, but also unnecessary and life-threatening risks like the Triwizard Tournament and fighting dragons.

The sun was sparkling softly slightly to the east, the sky the tiniest shade darker blue in the west. To the north of the lake (closer to the school) there was a set of stands, much like the ones on the Quidditch pitch, but not quite as high. Behind and to the right of the stands, on the eastern shore of the lake sat a tall white tent, with two scarlet triangular flags at each end, one burgundy and one powder blue, all blowing lightly in a chilly fall breeze. Sunlight bounced merrily off of the surface of the lake, making everything seem brighter than it really was, especially the atmosphere, which was heavy with excitement and suspense.

Severus’s sharp eye took in all of this in a matter of a split second, and surreptitiously too, as he took his place behind Dumbledore one space and slightly to the left, Minerva on the other side. Between Severus and his rival house’s head sat Moody, whose natural eye was trained on Severus, while the magical one kept watch on everything else in existence. Severus shuddered and looked away from the ex-Auror. He as well should be hated and despised by all.

Looking away from Moody, however, Severus soon realized, was a mistake. Having no creepy magical eye to focus on being creeped out by, Severus’s eyes instead took in the scene taking place in the rest of the stands. They were all excited, the students. Both foreign and Hogwarts students were jittery and bouncing in their seats, grinning ear to ear, happy. As if watching their fellows be doomed to their death by a giant fire-breathing monster was an event to be celebrated. Severus found he despised all of them as well.

He also despised Ludo Bagman, who sounded even happier than the students to have this event happen. A loud obnoxious whistle sounded, and Bagman appeared at Dumbledore’s immediate left, casting a _Sonorus_ on himself, he cheerfully announced Cedric Diggory. The Hufflepuff came out of the tent, marching proudly toward the stands and his Task, though Severus’s keen sight caught the slight shaking of Diggory’s knees as he neared the spectators.

The crowd were eagerly cheering Diggory on, and a few girls were screaming, much like they did for Krum. No sooner than the roar of welcome died down, was there a different roar, and a very large, very angry, female Swedish Short-Snout dragon was led into the make-shift arena by several dragon-tamers. One of them appeared to be on fire already… No, scratch that, he was just a Weasley. Smirking, Severus turned away to gauge Diggory’s reaction.

He was a little green, but he stood tall, wand out and apparently ready for whatever this dragon could throw at him. Severus raised an eyebrow to see how immeasurably Diggory had matured from the snivelling, home-sick, whiney first year Severus had encountered in his second year of teaching. He’d never really noticed before.

Just because the boy had matured didn’t mean his intelligence had improved any, Severus thought scathingly as Diggory threw spell after worthless spell at his dragon. Severus soon realized that was just a distraction tactic, for as the Short-Snout snapped angrily at a flash of purple light, Diggory turned his wand on a perfectly ordinary rock on the ground, and suddenly the rock was no more. In its place was a shiny golden retriever, yellow fur glinting in the sun with a glare to rival that of the reflective surface of the lake.

Severus was mildly impressed. He even deemed the move worthy to be described as _clever_. At least, that was, until the Short-Snout decided it didn’t particularly like dog, and would much rather have human for its Brunch instead. Diggory yelped loudly when the fire hit him, but didn’t let go of the golden egg he’d managed to get hold of while the dragon was wondering what it was in the mood for. The dragon was subdued then by the dragon-tamers, and Diggory rushed off with Madame Pomfrey to be healed before receiving his scores. He got a six from Maxime, a seven from Crouch, a seven from Albus, a five from Karkaroff, and a six from Bagman.

Once the crowd had died down and Diggory had been led away again, Bagman announced Delacour. She appeared from the tent, seeming much less stable than Diggory, taking almost tentative steps, as if she would faint at any moment. Her wand was tapping on her right thigh in a nervous tick.

The dragon-tamers brought her a Common Welsh Green, nothing special. Severus sneered at the small green dragon. Hardly as dangerous as a Short-Snout, it was at least half the size and five times dumber.

Delacour raised her wand up to chest-height, her arm shaking. She took a deep breath, and then moved her wand-hand around in a graceful and elegant series of circles, the narrow stick of magical wood emitting dazzling baby-blue and lilac powder. The powder blew itself, riding on a nonexistent wind, up into the Green’s face. The dragon sneezed, a mushroom shaped ball of fire coming from each nostril. Delacour shrieked unbecomingly and leaped to the side, narrowly avoiding the flames.

The Green then opened its eyes, only to blink them a few times, and close them again. At this new development, Delacour raced toward the nest of eggs. She was over halfway there when the Green began to snore. Delacour froze like a kneazle in sudden wand-light, and was caught in the fire from the dragon’s rumbling exhale.

She screamed and leapt around as if… well, as if she were on fire. After a few seconds of moronic insanity, Delacour finally doused her skirt with water from her wand, somehow drenching her entire form. She stood shaking for a few more seconds, but as the rumble of dragonly exhale began again, she took off. Good then, Severus sniggered. She’d learned a well-taught lesson about standing in front of sleeping dragons.

Delacour received her points immediately, having been checked over magically by Madame Pomfrey in front of everyone. She’d apparently suffered no burns. From her headmistress, Delacour earned seven points, from Crouch six. Albus gave her six as well, and Karkaroff, who obviously had decided not to be fair, gave her five. Bagman handed over a six.

Krum was announced next, and he waddled out like he owned the place, every single female in the arena cheering him on as if he did. The dragon-tamers, with difficulty, dragged in the Chinese Fireball, large, perfectly spherical puffs of fire emerging in fast succession from its angular snout. Severus felt the half-heart necklace twitch annoyingly beneath the neck of his robes as the blood-red serpentine beast crawled angrily and swiftly toward Krum. He’d seen what dragons there were, and there was only one left. Severus gritted his teeth. Why did Potter always have to get himself into the worst trouble possible?

Krum blinded the Fireball, and the great burgundy creature trampled around wildly on its short and fat legs, thick winding body twisting madly, like a pained snake. There were sickening crushing and squishing sounds as several eggs were smashed and broken. Severus curled his lip in disgust. This only served to reinforce his dislike for animals of all types. Krum managed to retrieve the golden egg without being flattened in the process, and the judges gave their numbers.

Maxime awarded a five, Crouch six, Albus as well, and Karkaroff threw up a ten, greedy bastard that he was. Bagman, all the while glaring lethal daggers at Karkaroff, gave Krum a three. The Quidditch star waddled off the field. And now everyone held their breath.

Potter was announced. There were plenty of cheers, but also a few boos, and Severus smirked, glad as always to find Potter humiliated. The Gryffindor marched proudly (much prouder than Diggory) from the tent, head held high, not shaking at all, jaw set firm. Though he looked frightfully small compared to the three competitors before him, he was obviously doing his best to look just as, if not more, formidable.

The Hungarian Horntail was brought out, and there was a collective gasp, the arena quieting all at once, causing an eerie hush to fall over the grounds, doubtless doing Potter’s nerves no good. The chain round Severus’s neck gave another jerk. Apparently the emphasis on the superiority of the Horntail to the other dragons wasn’t doing much for Severus’s own nerves either.

The dragon-tamers fled quickly as the Horntail ripped free of their binds and slashed her tail at them. She was actually a very beautiful creature, even if she was frightening as the Devil himself. Quite like Bellatrix, Severus mused with an almost-leer.

Clever, unlike her fellows, the Horntail kept watch on Potter via the corners of her eyes, making her way toward her clutch of eggs, trying to lure Potter into a false sense of security. Luckily for him, he wasn’t fooled and raised his wand.

“ _Accio Firebolt!_ The spell was heard easily throughout the hushed stands, and everyone held their breath, waiting for the broom to appear. There were a few unhealthy seconds in which the silence was deafening, but then suddenly there was a whoosh and a small gust of wind, and Potter’s broom was seen flying right toward him at an outrageous speed. It stopped short in front of Potter, seeming to quiver with excitement, waiting for him to mount and take on the challenge.

Potter quickly obliged his broom, throwing one leg over the handle and kicking off from the ground, with a grace he had with nothing else. Severus thought he even saw Potter smile. He was treating this like a game. The idiotic boy was going to get himself killed!

Suddenly, Potter dived, and there was a collective gasp, which Severus, in spite of himself, took part in. He felt the half-heart necklace twitch again anxiously. He sat up straighter, then moved his eyes toward the Horntail. She was no longer spying on Potter, but keeping watch on him openly, turning her head to follow his movements. Severus spotted the golden egg, resting carefully between the Horntail’s legs. Potter would never get it from her like this.

And then there was fire. Severus found himself leaning forward, his necklace jumping out on top of his robes to glitter in the sun like the lake and like Diggory’s golden retriever, and the egg Potter was trying to steal. There were several shrieks as Potter just barely avoided the flames, not a single twig on his broom even sparking.

“Great Scott, he can fly!” Bagman said breathlessly amid the screams and shouts. “Did you see that, Mr. Krum? I think you may have some competition in the near future!”

“Jesus Christ,” Severus, smirking, heard Potter swear as he flew by, perfectly unscathed. “I’m not that bloody good!” Severus relaxed again.

Potter soared up almost as high as he did when he was Seeking, flying round and round in a circle above the Horntail’s head. She followed his progress, around and around and around. Severus smirked again. Apparently, she was not quite as clever as he had assumed.

Potter plummeted again toward the ground, faster than Severus believed he’d ever seen him go. Lucky, Severus thought, spotting the Horntail opening her mouth to flame Potter just one second too late. But Potter wasn’t as lucky as they all thought, as just one second later, the Horntail swung her tail around to hit Potter in the side, and she wasn’t called Horntail for nothing. Potter swerved to the left, but Severus couldn’t tell whether or not he’d been missed.

Potter then zoomed round behind the Horntail, obviously provoking her. What was he doing? If anyone didn’t know better, they’d all think he was attempting suicide! Severus’s necklace jerked again, more violently now than the other times.

“Stop worrying, Snape!” Potter snapped, suddenly hovering in front of him. “You’re messing me up!” Severus did his best to ignore the twinkle in Dumbledore’s eye as Potter shot off again toward the beautifully lethal Horntail.

Potter began to move back and forth, three yards to the left, three to the right and back again. The Horntails head followed him, back and forth, and stretched out to try to reach him and get rid of him, but he always backed just out of her reach. She was frustrated, they could all tell, with Potter out of her reach and her eggs still to protect. She swung her tail again, but it didn’t even near Potter. She snapped her jaws, and shot fire, but Potter dodged it easily.

And then she was standing tall on her hind legs, her wings outstretched, and the crowd screamed again. Severus sucked in a quick breath and grabbed his charmed necklace so it wouldn’t pull Potter to him – he was obviously concentrating hard.

And then Potter was gone, everyone’s vision too slow to see where he had flown off to, including the Horntail’s. A second later, Severus spotted Potter, very close to the ground, going much to fast for Severus’s liking. Severus sucked in another anticipatory breath as Potter completely removed his hands from his broom and grabbed the golden egg, zooming out of reach just as the Horntail realized what he had done. Potter was finished. He’d done it better and quicker than the other three. It was over.

“Look at that!” Bagman screamed excitedly, reminding Severus of a little girl who’d just received her first play-doll house. “He was the quickest, folks! The youngest Champion got his egg first! Amazing!” Severus would not have put it below him to squeal.

The dragon-tamers came back out again, doing their best to subdue the Horntail. She wasn’t happy. Luckily for Weasley, she viewed his head as already on fire and didn’t aim for him. Severus rose at Minerva’s behest and followed her down from the stands. With Moody and Hagrid, they met Potter on the ground.

Minerva, Moody, and Hagrid were all smiling and waving, but Severus refused to do so as well, although he was somewhat relieved that Potter hadn’t died on his watch. With these necklaces, the responsibility was now entirely his, and he hated it. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind so much if it were someone like Creevey or Diggory, who were only ever in the wrong place at the wrong time. But Potter was actively a target. It was annoying at the best of times.

“That was excellent, Potter!” Minerva told the boy as soon as she was within shouting distance of him. Severus rolled his eyes. She was no doubt only happy that he’d shown up all the other houses with his Quidditch skills.

“It was just like Quidditch,” Potter mumbled bashfully, and with a shrug. Confirming Severus’s suspicions, Minerva beamed ear to ear, and patted Potter fondly on the back. Severus rolled his eyes once more. What nonsense.

“Go see the mediwitch, Potter,” Severus sneered, smirking unkindly at Potters lightly bleeding shoulder. “Over there.” He jerked his head toward Madame Pomfrey’s tent, in which Diggory was still hiding his face. Potter glared at Severus once, then heeded his directions and walked off toward the tent, Madame Pomfrey already rushing out to meet him, unnecessarily worried look on her face.

Minerva and Hagrid headed off as well, beaming proudly, and Severus turned away to go too, but he was brought up short by a wink and a grin from Moody. Severus stared after the ex-Auror with dislike as Moody followed in Minerva’s and Hagrid’s footsteps. He curled his lip and shuddered unnoticeably. Severus was known not to be freaked out by much of anything, but in that moment, he was well and completely freaked.

Harry had only been in the medi-tent for about two seconds when Ron and Hermione came rushing in, Hermione nearly tackling him in a hug, and Ron beaming from one ear right on over to the other.

“You were positively brilliant, Harry!” Hermione squealed, her voice much more high pitched than usual. Ron nodded emphatically and slapped Harry on the back.

“No one better,” he said. Harry grinned.

“Thanks, mate,” he replied happily. And then Hermione started crying in his arms, and Harry’s grin disappeared. “What – what’s wrong?”

“I thought you were going to die!” Hermione wailed, pushing him away. “Don’t you ever do that to me again, Harry James Potter!” And she rushed, bawling, out of the tent.

“I second that, Potter,” said a stern voice from behind him. Harry turned to see Madame Pomfrey coming toward him with a strangely shaped purple bottle in one hand, a worn out rag in the other.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, casting his eyes down. Madame Pomfrey ignored him, squeezing some purple stuff, just as strangely shaped as its bottle, onto the rag and dabbing it on his injured shoulder, muttering all the while under her breath. Harry thought he caught a few words, like “dragons” and “bumbling old fool” in there.

“I’ll see you later, Harry,” Ron said, laughing. He waved over his shoulder as he stepped outside the tent, into the sunlight, and away.

As soon as Madame Pomfrey had healed up his shoulder, which took no time at all, Harry headed back out of the medi-tent, golden egg and Firebolt safely in hand, to receive his scores.

He waited patiently while Madame Maxime thought it over. He held his breath as she raised her wand and a ribbon shot out of it. Harry let out his breath in shock and relief as the ribbon twisted itself into an eight, its shining silver curves sparkling girlishly in the sunlight. The next judge was Mr. Crouch. Harry grinned happily as another silver ribbon shot out and curled into a glossy nine. Dumbledore gave him a nine, too. Karkaroff, the petty bastard, gave him a four, and Mr. Bagman was generous enough to give him a big fat luminescent ten. That put him at forty, total.

Gleeful, Harry allowed himself to be led back into the Champions’ tent by Mr. Bagman, followed by Cedric.

“You did a great job, Harry,” Cedric told him quietly. Harry grinned.

“You too,” he assured the Hufflepuff, who looked a little shown-up.

“Ver did you learn to fly like that?” Krum asked Harry. Harry gulped, intimidated. Shuffling his feet, he shrugged.

“Comes natural, I guess,” he muttered. Krum nodded, as if that were the answer he had expected.

“You must teach me,” he told Harry in a tone that left no room for argument.

“I – _what_?!” But Krum didn’t have time to repeat himself, and Harry didn’t have time to get over his utter shock, before Mr. Bagman was talking again. The Champions all turned their attention towards him.

“Next task is a while away, chaps,” the ex-Beater told them all loudly, and cheerfully. “Nine-thirty in the morning on the twenty-fourth of February. Now, you’ve got something to figure out between now and then. See, those eggs you’ve got – they open. There’s a clue inside, see, and it’ll help prepare you for what’ll happen next. Good luck!” And he was gone again, with a definite spring in his step.

And, watching him go, Harry had to say – he didn’t blame him one bit.


	5. Egghead

They had a party.

Nobody made them stop, either – not even Snape. There was butterbeer everywhere, sparks in the air, posters and banners, and food. Lots and lots of food. As soon as Harry stepped into the Common Room and all the various scents assaulted his nose, he was starving. It felt like he hadn’t eaten in forever, which he probably hadn’t with his nervousness and all. Thinking (only a little guiltily) of Mrs. Weasley, he dug in.

It was a little disconcerting to have Snape breathing over his shoulder while he ate, like some sort of phantom ghost, but Harry was hungry enough, and happy enough, not to care.

The party was amazing, if Harry did say so himself. The food was excellent, even better than Mrs. Weasley’s – not that he was about to tell anybody that. The butterbeer was just as good as always, warming him from the inside and making everything shimmer with the pleasant blur of cheerfulness.

About every five seconds or so, someone new would come and check out Harry’s egg-clue, and about every ten, a person who’d looked it over before would come back. It wasn’t long until they all started begging Harry to open it.

Around nine o’clock, Harry followed their requests and grabbed up his golden egg, standing, as instructed, on a chair. The Common Room full of loud Gryffindors all cheered him and he waited ‘til they quieted down to hook his fingernails beneath the lip of the egg. He pulled up hard and the egg snapped open.

The most horrid sound Harry had ever heard filled the room. It was something like a screech, but not quite. It was worse. Harry dropped the egg with a dull thunk that no one heard and covered his ears, his spine shivering with the eeriness of the sound.

Suddenly, it stopped. Their brains no longer being assaulted by the painful noise, the Gryffindors looked around, wondering who had had the presence of mind to close the egg again. Their eyes fell on Snape, who was holding the closed egg in one hand, offering it back to Harry. Harry took it, numb with shock. Snape smirked.

“Good luck,” he sneered sarcastically. Then he turned to go back to his secluded, dark corner. Harry stuck his tongue out at the Potion Master’s back. Luckily for him, everyone around was too surprised to laugh and give him away.

Harry decided right then and there, that he wouldn’t ever open that egg again. He was sure that sound wouldn’t be too hard to remember.

  
In early December, there was a meeting called with each house. Snape seemed especially unhappy all week, probably because he didn’t get to be present at his own house’s meeting. Harry was pretty understanding about it all, considering, but after the meeting actually took place, he changed his mind.

“This meeting has been called,” Professor McGonagall told them all when they’d finally assembled and quieted down. “Because the Yule Ball – a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament – will of course be held at Hogwarts this year.

“The Ball provides you all with a perfect way to socialize with people you have never met before, and to make new acquaintances. It is open only to fourth years and up, unless a younger student is invited by an older one.

“You _must_ wear dress robes. It is _required_. The Ball begins at eight in the Great Hall, and ends at midnight.

“Also,” Professor McGonagall looked directly at Harry, and he leaned back in his chair slightly, wondering what he’d done wrong. “School Champions are opening the dance, and will be _required_ to have a partner as well.” Her gaze turned to a glare. “ _No exceptions_.”

With that, she swept out of the room, leaving her students to discuss this exciting new development. Harry moaned and let his head fall to hang over the back of his chair.

“I thought the Second Task wasn’t ‘til February,” he groaned. Hermione rolled her eyes at him, clicking her tongue the way she did whenever Ron asked her for her homework so he could copy.

“Oh, stop whining, Harry,” she scolded. “It’s not like getting a date will be hard. Especially not for you.” Gathering her books into her arms, her bushy hair bouncing on her shoulders, Hermione stood and waited impatiently – tapping her foot loudly – for her friends to follow her lead.

Harry picked up his head and said, “What’s that supposed to mean, Hermione?” Hermione rolled her eyes again, this time joined by Snape.

“You’re famous, Potter,” he snapped, just as impatient as the “insufferable know-it-all.”

“And not entirely unattractive,” Hermione added, cocking her head to the side as if to size Harry up. Harry glared at her.

“What a shining compliment, Hermione, thanks,” he credited sarcastically. Then he groaned again. “I can’t dance! I’d rather fight the Horntail again.”

“’Course you would, Harry!” Ron crowed. “You kicked a–” His eyes rested briefly on Snape, who, as per usual, raised an eyebrow. “…bum.” He sounded rather gloomy at not having been able to curse.

“Dancing should not be terribly hard for you to learn, Potter,” Severus said as he followed Potter to Charms, to the shock of his three… _companions_. “You are, after all, an athlete, so therefore your coordination must be something more than abysmal. You’d simply need to pay attention to the person teaching you, unlike you do in school.” Potter rolled his eyes with a growl, disrespectful as always.

“And who’s gonna teach me to dance?” the brat demanded. “You?” Severus raised an eyebrow down at him.

“I would rather not,” he sneered in reply. “But if I was compensated for my time and effort, I don’t suppose it would be _too_ unbearable.” The three Gryffindor dunderheads simply stared after him as he continued down the hallway and, annoyance lacing his voice, Severus called behind him, “If you are going to be late, I will not be held responsible.”

Harry didn’t sleep very well again that night, but this time it wasn’t because of something unpleasant. Harry had a dream. A very, very, _very_ good dream. It was about Cho Chang, and it was the first dream of its sort Harry had ever experienced.

Harry had been crushing on Cho ever since he’d first started noticing girls at all. That was in second year, just after he’d finished saving Ginny from the Chamber of Secrets, and Hermione had compared the adventure to a fairy tale.

He’d looked at Ginny first, in the position Hermione had placed her in when fairy tale-ing. The results he got from that went along the lines of, “Huh, I guess she’s pretty all right, but she reminds me too much of Ron, and that’s a bit creepy.” The next girl he’d noticed was Cho. And that was all that needed to be said on the matter.

Harry woke from his very good dream to find himself in an awful lot of sticky. He blushed furiously, even though no one was there to see the after-product of his dream. At least he didn’t _think_ there was anyone there to see, but he looked up to come into direct eye contact with Snape. Harry’s blush dissipated and his face went a rather pasty white.

“I heard you moaning,” Snape explained. “And thought perhaps you were having another one of those nightmares.” The evil man’s lips twitched in amusement. “Apparently not.”

 _Well_ , Harry thought, looking on the bright side. _At least now you can empathize with trauma victims_.

In class the next morning, Harry refused to make eye contact with anybody. He was pretty sure that Dumbledore (who was substituting for Snape in Potions) knew exactly what had happened last night, because it was a law of the universe that if something happened in Hogwarts Dumbledore knew about it, just like the law that Snape was nocturnal.

Harry left Potions growling and grumbling darkly under his breath. The three of them and Snape (Harry refused to put himself in a group with the man) headed out to Care of Magical Creatures.

“So, Harry,” Ron wondered. “Have you got anybody in mind to ask to the Yule Ball?” More muttering. Harry could practically _feel_ the snide remark about to come from Snape.

“Yes, who are you _dreaming_ of dancing with, Potter?” the Potions Master said silkily. “Or do you just imagine some faceless girl?” Blushing, Harry walked faster.

Ron gave Snape an odd look, but not before insisting, “Yeah, Harry, who d’you have in mind?”

“Nobody,” Harry mumbled, forcing a smile in Hagrid’s general direction as he got out his things for the less-practical-than-usual lesson they’d been warned they’d have today.

“So a faceless girl, then,” Snape decided, eyebrow raised, as always. Ron and Hermione sat on either side of Harry, and Snape sat across from the three.

“I didn’t say that,” Harry growled through gritted teeth. If only Snape would just drop it, life would be so much more pleasant.

“Indeed you didn’t,” Snape allowed. Then smirked, making Harry’s gut twist with dread. Almost all of Snape’s facial expressions seemed to do that to him. “Why don’t you answer Weasley’s question, then?”

Harry was fully planning to just ignore Snape completely and continue on with his life, but Ron and Hermione were looking at him expectantly, Ron eagerly curious, and Hermione reluctantly so. Closing his eyes briefly in an attempt to scare away his own blush, Harry answered both his friends’ innocent question, and Snape’s dirty one.

“Cho Chang,” he muttered. “I’d like to ask Cho Chang.” But Snape was not quite satisfied, obviously, because his lips were twitching again, in that way that said he was going to trap Harry in an awkward place.

“To…?” the greasy bastard prompted.

“ _Dance!_ ” Harry snapped indignantly, and much more loudly than was strictly necessary. Snape’s lips twitched again at the startled looks Ron and Hermione gave Harry.

“Of course,” Snape replied smoothly. “What else?”

The weeks passed quickly and suddenly it was very nearly Christmas, and Harry still didn’t have a date, which Snape and Ron both never missed teasing him about. At least with Ron, Harry could snap back about the redhead not having a date either, but Snape didn’t need one and he was Harry’s professor. Otherwise, Harry would have already beaten him up. As it were, Harry never passed up a chance to glare at the Potions Master.

But Harry could no longer ignore the fact that the jerks (friend and foe, both) had it spot on. He needed a date, and he needed one now. He worked up all of his courage (which took until after Charms) and cornered Cho in the corridor between classes.

“Oh, hi, Harry,” she said softly, and he shivered at the sound of her voice.

“Hi, Cho.” Harry chewed his lip for a few seconds, not making eye contact, but then blurted it out. “Wouldyougotothedancewithme?” Cho blinked a few times, and Harry was sure he heard Snape say, “Smooth” in the background. He blushed.

“Um, sorry?” Cho asked. Harry took a deep breath and repeated:

“Would you like to go to the Yule Ball with me?” Cho fidgeted, which Harry was surprised at. He’d expected to be the fidgeting one. Cho bit her lip and averted her gaze.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she said, and she sounded it, too. “I’m already going with Cedric.” Harry felt like someone had dumped a bucketful of ice-cold water on him. He blinked a few times, to get over it.

“Oh, right,” he said. “Well, okay. Um, I’ll just – I’ll just go to class, then.” And he did, desperately ignoring Snape’s smug presence the whole way.

It was obvious that Potter had all but given up on getting a date for the Yule Ball. He’d asked Chang first (which had been amusing), then he’d asked the Weasley girl, and then (as a last resort it seemed) Granger. They had _all_ already gotten dates, and one of them was _Longbottom_. If Severus had been at all capable, he might have felt some sort of thing similar to sympathy for Potter. As it were, he was not at all capable, and didn’t even try to hide his amusement.

Finally, apparently fed up with it all, Potter approached Gryffindor’s Patil twin and asked her, without any of the nervousness or blushing he’d had when asking the other three girls. She’d said yes, and even provided her sister for the use of Weasley. How kind.

Christmas morning was an event. It included all of Harry’s friends (and Dobby) somehow breaking into Snape’s rooms (probably due to Hermione) very early to give him his presents. Snape, obviously, was not amused. Christmas dinner was spectacular in every way. Christmas afternoon was an epic snowball fight, with Snape grumpily watching on. Christmas night was nerve-wracking.

Harry, Ron, Neville, Dean, and Seamus changed into their dress robes in their dormitory at seven o’clock, with Snape grumpily watching on. Ron, apparently desperate, used a charm to cut the ruffles and frills and lace off of his robes, muttering all the while, mostly about his mother.

They headed down to the Common Room where Harry met his date. Parvati looked dashing in bright pink robes and her long black braid laced with gold. Harry took her in, noticing how the robes complimented her curves, and the shade of pink brought out her skin colour and made her dark eyes stand out. She smiled brilliantly at him, and he blushed.

“You look really lovely,” Harry told her quietly, taking her hand. Snape rolled his eyes, but Harry had gotten good enough at ignoring the greasy twit that he could seamlessly pretend he hadn’t noticed. Fred winked at Harry as he and Parvati left through the portrait hole, Ron following. He ignored that one too.

In the Entrance Hall they met Padma, who was wearing shockingly bright turquoise robes and silver in her hair instead of gold like her sister. Her curves, skin, and eyes were just as accented by her outfit as Parvati’s were, but Harry courteously left the complimenting up to Ron. Not that he took it.

The Durmstrang lot entered, headed by Krum and his date. She was extremely pretty. She wore royal blue robes and clips with blue roses on them in her hair. Harry cocked his head and looked closer. She had a bit of freckles and chocolate brown eyes, and her tied-up hair looked like it might have product in it. Harry squinted, and then gasped. It was Hermione. He grinned at her as she passed, and she blushed with a wink.

McGonagall called for the Champions to stand on either side of the doors to the Great Hall while everyone else entered, and Harry and Parvati obediently headed over, the crowd parting easily for them.

As Harry and Parvati stationed themselves at the door, Cho and Cedric came over and stood near them. Harry avoided them both, but couldn’t stop himself in time from glancing over at Snape (who was standing at the other door to the Great Hall, that came out behind the staff table), and blushing.

When they entered, the Great Hall applauded. After Fleur and Davies, Harry nervously led Parvati along a path through the Great Hall devoid of mistletoe. He bit down the lump in his throat and took a deep breath as the music started. Snape hadn’t deigned to actually teach Harry to dance, so he was clueless. Before they started dancing, Harry gave Parvati an apologetic look, but she smiled and made it easy on him.

After the first dance, Parvati let Harry mingle. He was just about to be grateful for that fact, when Percy, who was there in place of Crouch, motioned him over. Reluctantly, Harry sat next to him and listened for ages to Percy brag about his promotion.

Harry managed to escape after what seemed like years, and found Ron, Parvati, and Padma and sat down with them. Ron glared fiercely at Hermione and Krum while Padma pouted (just as fiercely) beside him. Harry rolled his eyes and popped open a butterbeer. Within a matter of minutes, Parvati was asked to dance by a Beauxbatons boy.

“Can I, Harry?” she asked. “Do you mind?” Harry shook his head.

“No, go ahead.” With a pretty grin, she took the hand of the boy and rushed off with him onto the dance floor. When Hermione took the vacated seat, she and Ron had a row, which Harry found himself in the middle of. After Hermione had stormed off, Padma asked Ron if he was ever going to dance with her.

“No,” he said bluntly. She left just as dramatically as Hermione had, and Harry sat there feeling awkward. Then Percy took the seat next to Harry, and Harry sat there trying not to roll his eyes.

After the dance, Harry followed Snape to the dungeons for bed. Harry changed into pyjamas while Snape grumpily watched on, sipping from a glass of dark red wine. There was a knock on the door. Snape gave Harry a glare that said clearly, “Stay hidden, you imbecile,” and led Harry out of the room and toward the entrance to Snape’s quarters.

Harry did his best to keep to the shadows like Snape did all the time. He wasn’t very good at it, but luckily he was small and Snape’s furniture was artfully placed and the sitting room dark.

It was Karkaroff who had knocked.

“Severus, it’s gotten even worse now. Have you looked? You’ve felt it, haven’t you? Severus, what are we going to do? I haven’t –”

“I don’t see what there is to fuss about, Igor,” Snape smoothly interrupted him, at the same time as letting him in and choosing an armchair far away from where Harry crouched behind a small table. “Have a seat.”

“Severus, you cannot pretend this isn’t happening!” Karkaroff sounded utterly frantic, though he kept it hushed as if revealing some horrible secret. “It’s been getting clearer and clearer for months. I am becoming seriously concerned, I can’t deny it –”

“Then flee,” Snape told him curtly, sounding very much the mean old teacher. “I will make your excuses, Igor, but I will remain here.” Karkaroff began to fretfully twirl his goatee around his finger and ground his teeth together. He huffed out a breath it seemed he’d been holding, and then stood.

“Your advice is lacking, Severus,” he said. Then, with a parting nod, he left.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Harry jumped from his hiding space. Snape led him back into the bedroom again and drew the curtain aside. Before he could close it again, Harry demanded, “What was that?”

“That was something you will forget you heard,” Snape growled. The curtain flew shut and Harry, after glaring at it, turned away from it and reluctantly went to bed.

The next morning, Harry groggily got up for breakfast to see Snape waiting impatiently for him by the door. As soon as Harry was dressed, Snape left the room, Harry being dragged after him.

They rushed to the Great Hall and Snape immediately took his seat next to Dumbledore and began speaking out of the corner of his mouth. Harry rolled his eyes and sat down at Gryffindor table to his own breakfast.

After breakfast, Snape and Harry headed up the marble staircase to go to Defence, but they were called back by a friendly voice.

“Hey, Harry. Have you figured out your egg yet?” Cedric called across the Entrance Hall.

“N –” Harry began. Snape cut him off.

“Why, might I ask, would you like to know, Diggory?” Harry glared at him sourly.

“Erm – well just…er…take a bath, it’ll help you out,” said Cedric, ignoring Snape’s question.

“What!” Harry yelled, making a couple of nearby first years jump. “Not with – but… isn’t there another way to figure it out?”

“Oh, that does suck, doesn’t it?” Cedric replied unhelpfully, eyeing Snape with somewhat of a startled expression. “Er…no, sorry, Harry.” He then went toward the stairs to his Common Room without another word.

“Oh, come on!” Harry shouted after him, grabbing Dumbledore’s charmed necklace in yet another attempt to rip it from his neck. It still wouldn’t come loose. He and Snape glared at each other. This was _not_ cool.

They snuck into the Prefect’s bathroom that night to work out the clue, arguing all the way there about whether or not they were going to tell Ron and Hermione about what the clue turned out to say.

Eventually, they settled on a sort of compromise. They would go back to Gryffindor Tower just long enough to divulge what they’d found, and then they’d go straight back to Snape’s quarters from there. With curt nods to each other, they entered the bathroom.

  
“He could’ve told me to just put it under water,” Harry yelled, storming into the common room, throwing his things into and armchair, and ignoring Ron and Hermione. “But _no_. He had to tell me to take a _bath_. Take a _bath_ , Harry. There’s no other _way_ , Harry. Oh, _sorry_ , Harry. Stupid son of a –”

“Hang on,” said Ron as Snape walked in behind Harry. “You’re wet too.”

“ _What_ an observation,” Harry snarled, moving as far away from Snape as possible.

“But you didn’t –” Hermione stuttered. “Tell me you didn’t – I mean, at… at the same time?” Both of Harry’s friend’s eyes were travelling very fast between him and Snape. Harry’s fists clenched. Snape’s lips twitched.

“Oh, you _did_ , didn’t you?” Hermione whined.

“Not on purpose,” Harry growled angrily. Ron and Hermione stared at him for a moment, and then turned, gaping, to Snape.

“The situation was not of my doing, I assure you,” Snape replied to their accusatory stares. “Potter was the one who decided it might be fun to trip and fall and nearly drown himself –”

“But what does that have anything to do with –” Ron started. Harry cut him off.

“It was the stupid necklaces,” he snapped irritably, wrapping a fist around the half-heart hanging round his neck.

“Oh,” said Ron stupidly.

“So what did the clue say?” Hermione asked quickly, sliding over the sticky moment with ease. Harry took a deep breath and recited:

 _*“Come seek us where our voices sound. We cannot sing above the ground. And while you’re searching, ponder this: we’ve taken what you’ll sorely miss. An hour long you’ll have to look and to recover what we took, but past an hour – the prospect’s black, too late, it’s gone, it won’t come back.”*_

Silence greeted the end of the poem. Harry stared into the fire and Ron and Hermione stared at Harry. Snape rolled his eyes at the ceiling. The three of them were so thick.

“Er, what does it mean?” said Ron blankly after a while.

“No clue,” Harry told him without looking away from the fire. Snape rolled his eyes again. It was a wonder the boy was still alive. But Hermione was thinking hard. She turned on her heal to face Snape.

“Professor?” she asked. “Are there merpeople in the lake?” Snape raised an eyebrow. Not as stupid as she looked, then. Who would have thought?

“Perhaps,” he sneered.

“Well, there you go, Harry,” said Hermione, turning back around to face him again. “You’ve got to get your stuff back from merpeople.”

“But –” Harry was still confused. “But how am I supposed to breathe underwater?” At this, Hermione bit her lip.

“I – I don’t know, Harry.” Snape snorted at their idiocy. Didn’t they ever pay attention in class? The three of them looked at him. He raised an eyebrow at them. He knew what they were going to ask next.

“You know, don’t you?” Ron demanded. “You’re a teacher. The teachers know all the tasks.”

“Yes, Weasley,” Snape replied condescendingly.

“And you know how I could survive underwater?” Harry pressed. “There’s a potion or something, isn’t there?” Snape raised his eyebrow farther and his lips twitched again.

“There _is_ , isn’t there?’ Harry repeated, more insistently. “Tell me! What do I have to do?” Snape folded his arms, leaned against the wall and stubbornly remained silent. Harry let out an annoyed _grr_ and began to pace, going over all the potions he’d ever heard of in his life. Over and over again he listed them in his head. Not one of them had anything to do with water.

Harry was in the library with Ron and Hermione and Snape, three of them searching through potions book after potions book after potions book while the other remained nearly invisible in the shadows of the corners. They found nothing and Harry was getting desperate. There was only tonight and tomorrow morning left before the task tomorrow afternoon and Harry was kind of freaking out. He still had no plan.

Quietly, Neville entered the library, his eyes scanning around briefly before setting on Harry’s little group, made up of mostly books. Neville’s eyes lit up, and Harry couldn’t help the slow feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. He liked Neville, yes, but Neville had this thing where he always turned up at exactly the wrong moment. The tubby Gryffindor headed over to them.

“Hi, Harry,” he said cheerfully. “Hi, Ron, Hermione.” The three of them nodded at him in turn and then went back to their respective books. “Er…” Neville faltered awkwardly, taking the hint that he wasn’t quite welcome at the moment. “Um, McGonagall sent for you two.” He gestured vaguely at Ron and Hermione, who both grunted their acknowledgement. “Right,” Neville mumbled. “Well, I’ll just leave you, then.”

Several minutes passed in which no one moved except to turn the page of a book or make a note on a scrap of parchment. Ron and Hermione didn’t leave and Harry and his two best friends poured and slaved over the books together, searching in vain for a viable solution to his lake problem. Eventually, though, Snape disturbed their peace.

“If your Head of House has requested you, it would most likely be wise to heed her summons,” he said from the corner behind Harry. The three Gryffindors before him all jumped.

“Bloody Snape,” Ron muttered, and the curse was accompanied by a dry tearing sound as Ron’s quill punctured the old-ish parchment he was writing on. The three of them could feel the smug expression on Snape’s face echoing off of their tense shoulders.

“Going _now_ would probably be beneficial.” Snape’s cold sneer left no doubt in anybody’s minds that the statement was more than a suggestion, but rather an order direct from a teacher. Ron and Hermione scrambled to pack their personal belongings and (in Hermione’s case) the books they’d brought with them to the library and didn’t want to leave alone with Harry. Promptly (though reluctantly), they left and Harry and Snape were left alone with the dusty pages.

For three more hours, Harry searched. He read five entire potions books, and skimmed countless more. He found nothing. Toward the end of the third hour, Harry threw anxious and desperate looks over his shoulder at Snape, not knowing whether or not he wanted Snape to notice them. When the third hour faded into a fourth, Snape gave an exasperated sigh and slinked out of his dark corner to sit down next to Harry.

Snape flicked his wand and all the books and notes on the table disappeared.

“Hey!” Harry snapped angrily. He opened his mouth to tell Snape exactly how much of a bastard he was, but the Potions Master raised a hand to silence him and gave an irritated shake of the head. Harry fell quiet, but glared all the same.

“You’re looking in the wrong books,” Snape said, slightly quieter and gentler than usual. It was probably the fact that it was almost one in the morning now. That was probably the only good thing about being attached at the hip to a teacher, Harry’d decided – he didn’t have a curfew, and Snape knew all the passwords. “You need Herbology, Potter. Start over.”

Okay, so maybe Snape wasn’t being quite as gentle as Harry had first deduced, but still. Grudgingly, and dead on his feet, Harry shuffled back to the shelves and pulled books off, sending dull thuds bouncing around the room as they hit his chest.

Harry sat down at his table in the corner and set back to work, vigorously absorbing all the plant information his brain could take. For two more hours they sat in the kind of silence that gives you a headache.

Snape rose from his seat and disappeared between a few shelves toward the back of the Herbology section. Harry ignored the Potions Master in favour of trying to figure out what the hell the Foetor Plant did.

When Snape came back he slid a thin, dark brown book over top of the page Harry was reading in a thick and intimidating volume on his lap. Harry stared blankly at the cover before actually managing to read the title (he was _really_ tired.) It was some dude’s extra-special Herbology Encyclopaedia _G_ , 2nd Edition. Harry blinked, took the book, and flipped it open.

He’d only read four or five pages before Snape leaned over his shoulder and placed a long, thin finger on a word. _Gillyweed_. Harry read the definition, and then where Gillyweed was usually found. Not anywhere around here. He moved on down the entry, and discovered what potions and foods Gillyweed was commonly used in. Veritaserum was listed.

“Professor?” A low hum told him to go on. “Er, did you make your own Veritaserum, sir?” Harry felt Snape’s smirk again, but this time it wasn’t meant to spite him – this time it was Snape’s own special way of telling him he wasn’t completely hopeless as a mildly intelligent person. Harry smiled, and knew the answer before Snape gave it.

“Indeed I did, Mr. Potter. What of it?”

“Well, did you happen to have any left over ingredients, sir?” Harry kept up the ‘sir’ dutifully. He knew that Snape was currently not pissed off at him, but in order to get what he wanted, or at least a way to get it himself, he needed to suck up a bit. It was unpleasant, but Snape – as a rule – was unpleasant.

“I did. Are you planning to steal from me, Potter?” Harry blushed. It had indeed been his Plan B to ask Ron or Hermione to break in to Snape’s stores for him, but that was only Plan B, anyway. Plan A might still work.

“No, sir. I figured I’d try asking, sir.” There was a small huff of breath behind him which Harry took to be Snape’s own version of a laugh. He swallowed audibly.

“Well, there is a first for everything, after all, is there not?” Harry forced his jaw shut against the sarcastic ‘ha, ha’ on the tip of his tongue. It wouldn’t do to ruin his chances this far in. Just a few more seconds of kissing arse and he might just survive in one piece tomorrow. As far as Harry was concerned it was a relatively small price to pay, even if it was Snape’s arse he was kissing.

“Yes, sir, I suppose there is, sir.” Harry chewed his tongue fretfully. He was rather tired of saying ‘sir’. There was another huff, and Harry blushed again, humiliated.

“And what ingredient was it that you needed, Mr. Potter?” Harry resisted the urge to snap or growl. Snape, apparently, was enjoying this and was going to draw it out as long as possible.

“Gillyweed, sir, if that’s all right.” Harry tried very hard not to grit his teeth, but the sentence came out a little strained anyway, and Snape’s chuckle actually held intelligible sound this time around. Harry’s flush deepened and he slouched, sulking.

“And why in God’s name would I waste perfectly good Gillyweed on _you_ , Mr. Potter?” The sneer grated on Harry’s nerves with a feeling similar to that of pure wool on bare skin.

“Because of the bloody –” he snapped, but stopped himself before he could finish his sentence, which no doubt would’ve contained a few not very kiss-arse-ish names for Snape. He let out his own huff of breath, trying to calm down and pucker up again. “I’d use it well, sir. Please?” Harry could almost hear Snape’s eyebrow rising expectantly. He closed his eyes as his fists clenched and prayed for patience.

“Oh, please, sir,” he begged. The words were forced out through a stiff and angry jaw, but it was begging all the same. “Please. I really, really need it, sir.”

“Very well,” Snape allowed. “How much will you be needing, then?” Shit. Now Snape was testing him. He probably wouldn’t give Harry any Gillyweed if Harry didn’t know how much he needed. Or maybe he would, and Harry would ask for too much and suffocate, or too little and drown. It was a scary thought and Harry’s gut twisted.

“Um…” He flicked his gaze to the open Encyclopaedia lying on the table beside him, but it was too far away and the text too small to read from here. Double shit. An hour… an hour… How much Gillyweed did he need to breathe underwater for an hour?… Harry took a wild guess, hoping Snape would show him some mercy.

“A – a handful, sir… I think.”

“You _think_ , Mr. Potter?” Snape sneered.

“I know!” Harry corrected quickly, blushing again at the wild note his voice took on in his desperation. “I know, sir. I need one handful of Gillyweed, sir. Please, sir – just one handful.” Harry’s voice faded to a whisper toward the end. Snape’s overtly smug presence behind him made Harry feel distinctly sick, like he felt when he was at the Dursleys’ and hadn’t had enough to eat in much too long.

“Right this way, then, Mr. Potter. Follow me and I will show you where I keep my Gillyweed.” Harry sighed in relief and trailed after Snape obediently to the dungeons.

Harry numbly followed Snape to the Potions Master’s office and watched from the door as Snape selected a gooey handful of some pulsing wormlike plant. He put it in a magical jar and handed it to Harry. Clinging to the Gillyweed with both hands, Harry led the way to Snape’s quarters, where he immediately fell, exhausted, into bed.

Severus stayed up a while longer, thinking. It’d been years since he’d last gone over aquatic plants and potions, and he hoped a handful really was the right amount of Gillyweed to last an hour. He knew Potter probably had enough but having _too much_ Gillyweed could be just as fatal as having too little.

Severus sat on his side of the curtain for a little over fifteen minutes. Potter’s being such a perfect seeker would no doubt enable him to swim very fast if he didn’t actually have enough Gillyweed. And if he had too much, it would be easy enough to go back under the water when he realized he couldn’t breathe air. There was no point in loosing sleep. With a sigh, Severus forced his mind blank and retired.

The next morning, Snape and Harry woke early and ate breakfast in utter silence in Snape’s kitchen. Harry picked listlessly at his food, pouting. He was nervous and terrified and worried and he didn’t think he’d make it _to_ the task, much less _through_ it.

“Relax, Potter,” Snape snapped at him eventually. “And eat. The Gillyweed will work.” Never mind that he was reassuring himself as well. It was only five more minutes before they left Snape’s rooms.

The two of them wandered aimlessly around the school, until the excited chatter about the task today had Harry so nervous and jumpy that he looked close to either tears or being sick and couldn’t decide which was safer. So they went to the lake and walked around the inner circumference of the new stands that had been put up for that afternoon. Eventually, Harry tugged off his shoes and swung his feet in the cool water of the lake, while Snape chose the first seat to be taken.

The stands slowly filled, the giddy students whispering and pointing as they passed Harry. Harry ignored them and watched the ripples his feet made in the quiet water. Sooner than Harry would have liked, everyone was there, and Harry stood up again to take his place next to the other three Champions.

“Ah, and the Champions are ready!” Ludo Bagman’s magnified voice echoed off of the stands and the still water, and Harry couldn’t help but snort. He ran a hand through his hair. He sure as Hell wasn’t ready. “Right then, no need to wait any longer! On the count of three. One. Two. Three!” He blew a whistle and Harry stuffed the Gillyweed into his mouth, forcing himself to swallow it whole as the other Champions used spells to enable their underwater escapades.

It took about thirty seconds for Harry to start feeling the effects of the Gillyweed. Three sharp pains on each side of his neck, blurriness in his eyes even though he was wearing his glasses, a weird rubbery-ness in between his fingers and toes. And then Harry couldn’t breathe and the water was looking very inviting. So he dove in.

The cool comfort of the slippery lake water surrounded him, and Harry floated near the surface for a minute, simply basking in the pleasantness of it. Then he took off toward the bottom.

Harry didn’t know how long it took him to get there; it was mostly just a blur of water and waving green weeds. Soon enough though, he reached a clearing of sorts with small huts in a circle round four large wooden stakes in the ground. Each stake had a person tied to it, all of them with hair that floated eerily in the water, and Harry shivered a little before swimming straight for Hermione. Until he saw Ron. And Cho Chang. And he didn’t know which one was supposed to be his.

He stared blankly at them for a few moments, unable to decide which was more important to him. He bit his lip. He doubted it was Cho, so he glided away from her, floating directly between Ron and Hermione.

To help decide, Harry thought about the other Champions. The little blonde girl farthest away from him was obviously Fleur’s, and Cho was probably Cedric’s. So then, that left Krum. Harry very, very highly doubted that what Viktor Krum would miss most was Ronald Weasley, so that meant Hermione was his, leaving Ron for Harry. His suspicions were confirmed when, in quick succession, Krum and Cedric shot passed him, cut loose their respective charges, and swam off again. Cedric stopped briefly to give Harry a confused glance.

Harry floated gently forward and released Ron from the ties hold him to the wooden stake. He prepared to swim with Ron’s dead weight, but paused, his eyes on the little blonde girl. She looked so pitiful, just sitting there all alone, with her silvery hair shimmering around her. Harry glanced around, and didn’t see any kind of sign that Fleur was coming. He looked again at the little girl. With Ron held to his side with his right arm (the stronger one), Harry swam over to the girl and started untying her with one hand.

He was attacked.

Suddenly there were Merpeople everywhere, and Harry was being scratched by fingernails attached to bony fingers with webs. One of them grabbed him at the elbow of the arm he was holding Ron with, and he was spun around and dropped his friend. He dove and caught Ron before he hit the ground, checking him over even though he’d only been slowly drifting downwards, rather than falling. When Harry turned back to the little girl, still tied to the post, the Merpeople were gone again.

With a silent apology to the redhead, Harry put Ron over his shoulder and set to work on the girl’s ties, with both hands this time. He was attacked again, but this time he was ready for it, and even managed to kick a mean-looking Merman in the face. He figured it probably meant that he was in huge trouble, but he wasn’t really thinking straight. The Merpeople got him away from the girl again, and he rounded on them angrily, almost dropping Ron again.

“But Fleur’s not coming!” he shouted at them, huge bubbles flowing out of his mouth. “I can’t just leave her here!” A rather intimidating Mermaid charged him, and in reflex he flung out his free arm, the heel of his hand hitting her head-on. He thought he might have broken her nose, but he wasn’t entirely sure it was possible to break a Mermaid’s nose. He didn’t dwell on it. While the other Merpeople were distracted with being worried about the intimidating ‘maid, Harry went back to the little girl, untied her the rest of the way, and swam up as fast as he possibly could.

He glanced behind him once, to find himself being followed by a school of very angry Merpeople. He shouted in alarm, and swam faster. His legs were beginning to hurt with the effort, and he noticed that the sides of his fingers seemed to be stinging slightly.

He could see the light above him now, and the promise of being above-ground with air-breathing human beings was a welcome one. He took a huge gulp of water and pushed himself to swim even faster. Up, up, up, almost there. Almost there.

But then Harry’s neck hurt like all living Hell, and he couldn’t see, and Ron and the little blonde girl were much heavier than they had been two seconds ago. And he wasn’t going as fast and his toes were stinging now too. Harry’s chest started to hurt with the pressure of the water all around and no air. No air. He needed air.

Harry figured he was probably going to drown.

Carefully, he wrapped the little girl in Ron’s arms, and pushed up hard on Ron, sending the redhead and his own momentum to the surface, loosing all of his speed and energy. He squeezed his eyes shut and gripped his throat. _Jesus,_ he thought deliriously. _Drowning hurts._

Harry felt himself sinking back down.

Then there were hands. Hands all over him. And they were cold and slimy, and not at all like they were when he’d been fighting them down at the bottom of the lake. And besides all that, they were helping him now. Sort of. He though they were, anyway, but he couldn’t tell what was up or down, so he could’ve been wrong.

Harry felt a tug at his necklace, and all the hands let go in shock as it pulled gently upwards.

Snape was worried about him.

The necklace tugged a little more, and that hurt too. Harry tried to swallow, but his throat was too constricted from lack of air. He forced himself to relax and go limp. The Merpeople pushed him upwards the way he’d done with Ron, only there were much more of them than there was of him, so he went faster than Ron had done.

A foot from the surface, the necklace gave a bloody great tug, and Harry was pulled almost violently from the water with it nearly slipping off around his ears. Gasping in great mouthfuls of air, Harry swam tiredly to the shore and flopped down next to Ron, who was being smothered by Fleur and the little girl. He told himself he was ignoring the collective sigh of relief from the stands, and not just partially unable to correctly register it.

Harry sat up when Madame Pomfrey came over, and told her (in an unhealthy-sounding croak) that he was perfectly fine, thank you, Ma’am. He glanced around to see the Merpeople talking with the judges, and Snape glaring. Harry took off his glasses and went to dry them on his robes, stopping when he remembered they were saturated right through. He threw the glasses on the ground and settled for trying to rub away the headache behind his eyes.

Harry paid next-to-no attention to the point-giving, the fact that he was tied with Cedric again the only thing he really caught, and only because Ron had told him so. He was vaguely aware of Madame Pomfrey trying to get him to drink something, but he refused it profusely.

“I’ve had enough liquid, thanks,” he told her, his voice still just a croaky whisper. The nurse sighed exasperatedly, though with a fond smile on her face. Harry didn’t quite notice, but it didn’t quite slip his mind either.

“You said an hour, Potter,” Snape’s voice growled, much too loud and much too close to Harry’s aching head. He jumped nearly a foot in the air, and looked up at his Potions professor. “An hour. You were under for nearly two.” Snape raised an accusing eyebrow, but Harry was too exhausted to do any excuse-making or guilt-feeling, so he just muttered, “Fuck off, Snape,” and collapsed back onto the ground. He passed out rather quickly, despite being uncomfortable aware of Snape’s white-hot glare still trained on him.


	6. Into the Maze

Harry woke up and opened his eyes, immediately regretting it and closing them. Having his eyes closed didn’t prevent Harry from having to sense Snape’s presence, or smell the horrible smell coming from the Potion Master’s general direction.

“For future reference, Potter,” the deep voice sneered. “This is what having a hangover feels like.” Snape’s voice echoed weirdly inside Harry’s head and he felt quite sick. “Open your eyes.” Harry groaned.

“ _Why?_ ” he whined. The rustle of Snape’s robes as he moved closer was grossly magnified and Harry flinched at the sound. It made his ears burn.

“Because without doing so, it will be difficult for you to drink this potion.” Harry rolled over and covered his ears with his hands.

“ _So?_ ” Snape sighed, reached over, and pulled Harry to face him by his messy black hair. Harry whimpered rather pitifully, and Snape’s smirk at the sound was audible. The greasy bastard forced Harry’s mouth open and dumped a foul-smelling, foul-tasting, foul-feeling substance down his throat. Harry only swallowed to get rid of it. He looked on the bright side, though; at least he hadn’t had to open his eyes.

Harry didn’t really keep track of how many days passed until he and Snape were held back after Transfiguration and McGonagall told him he was to meet Bagman on the Quidditch Pitch that night.

They met Cedric in the Entrance Hall, and he and Harry automatically started speculating about what the third Task would be while Snape drifted along behind them like a specter.

They walked, excitedly anxious, onto the Quidditch Field and stopped short.

“What’ve they done!?” they both demanded with maybe a bit too much indignation, but only maybe.

“They’ve grown hedges,” Snape sneered condescendingly at Harry’s left shoulder.

“ _Ooh_ ,” Cedric growled with a visible shudder. “If they don’t put it back after the Task is through, I’ll kill them.”

“I’ll be your second, mate,” Harry agreed with a nod. After a short, quiet laugh, they set off again to the edge of the center of the field to join the other Champions and Bagman. Looking around at the twenty-foot hedges, Bagman seemed very proud of himself, Fleur unconcerned, and Krum quite disgusted. Harry always knew he was a smart one.

“Right, so!” Bagman said cheerfully when they’d all looked their fill of the hedge-walls. “Third Task. There’s an order to this one. It’s a maze, see, and the first to get to the Triwizard Cup at the center, wins it. Harry, you and Mr. Diggory will enter first, sense you’re tied, and then Krum, and after him, Miss Delacour. And there’ll be obstacles.” He grinned around at all of them. “Fun, huh?” Harry doubted it. “Questions?” They all shook their heads, and Bagman shooed them all away in an obnoxiously cheerful way.

They shooed, and Snape led the way back up to the castle, not allowing Harry to stop to talk to Cedric, or Krum who seemed to have something to say.

Harry had trouble with sleeping again, mostly because Snape kept pacing just barely on his side of the curtain. Occasionally, he would rip it partway back and glare heatedly at Harry’s bed and Harry would snap his eyes shut and pretend to be asleep. But as soon as the curtain was closed again, Harry would watch the edge of Snape’s robes sweep by behind it.

A couple nights later, Harry heard voices in his sleep. It was like he was awake with his eyes closed and eavesdropping.

“You are in luck, Wormtail.” Harry immediately recognized _that_ voice, and he really wished he never eavesdropped on anything it said. “Your blunder, apparently, has done barely any harm. He is dead.”

“My Lord! I am so pleased, and so very sorry.” Harry could hear the fear in Wormtail’s voice, but he also sensed something like resentment – almost as if he wished he’d ruined everything. Harry wondered if Voldemort caught it too.

“ _Crucio!_ ” Apparently so, and Harry woke screaming with a thin-fingered hand on his shoulder, and black eyes imploring him to calm down.

After a mug of tea undoubtedly laced with some relaxing potion or other, Harry quietly told Snape all about his dream, and while Harry pretended to fall back asleep, Snape informed Dumbledore through the Floo.

Harry bit his lip when Dumbledore told Snape that he suspected “the time was coming when things would not be so easy,” and Snape, coldly, agreed.

Only three nights later, the last Task was upon them, and Harry was feeling distinctly sick. Toward the end of dinner, Dumbledore rose at the Head table to tell everyone where to go when they were through with the food, and to instruct the Champions to go now. Harry rose and followed the other three out silently, Snape behind him.

The stands slowly filled, and Bagman was soon under _Sonorus_ yet again. He introduced each Champion with their point number and then turned to Harry and Cedric, counting to three and blowing his whistle.

They raced in.

The only thing Harry ran into for ages was Cedric, smoking from a run-in with a Blast-Ended Skrewt. He was getting unnerved and felt like he was being watched. He sped up.

And then there was a Dementor.

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” Harry shouted, thinking of how it would feel to win. The silver stag leapt from his wand and charged the cloaked reaper, making it stumble on the hem of its robe. Harry snorted in mild amusement.

“ _Riddikulus_ ,” he muttered, flicking his wand lazily. The boggart exploded in a shower of rather depressing confetti.

And then he was alone and unhindered again and it made him queasy. At one point he stopped right in the middle of the path and just watched the hedges. He _knew_ something was there. There had to be.

And then there was a weird golden mist in his path.

Harry approached it cautiously, rather like one would approach a wild animal. He squinted at it and looked at it out of the corners of his eyes. It didn’t change. He bit his lip.

“ _Reducto!_ ” No effect.

Then there was a scream, and without thinking, Harry ran into the mist.

And then he was upside-down.

Harry felt like his stomach had dropped right out of the top of his skull and down into the sky. He gulped, hard. Al his blood rushed to Harry’s head and his ears pounded with it. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, bit his tongue, and jumped forward as hard as he could.

Harry’s feet hit the ground (the actual ground) on the other side of the mist, and he sighted in relief. Steadying himself, he rushed off again.

And then there was nothing again.

And then there was a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

It was ten feet long.

The Skrewt blasted some fire at him and Harry rolled on the ground to dodge it successfully. He cursed when he found himself on his back and having nothing in his sight range except Skrewt. Harry pointed his wand straight up and said the first defensive spell that came to mind.

“ _Impedimenta!_ ” To Harry’s surprise, it worked and he scrambled to his feet and away.

And then there was Cedric’s voice, and he sounded rather distressed.

“What the bloody Hell do you thing you’re doing?” And then there was Krum.

“ _Crucio!_ ” And then Cedric screamed, and Harry swore, and he ran toward the sound, and he beat his way through a hedge-wall, and he tackle Krum, because it was quickest and easiest. The screaming stopped and the only sound was Cedric panting. Krum didn’t seem to be breathing regularly, so Harry stood and looked him over. There was something funny about his eyes, and Harry squinted at them.

“ _Hurt him. Make him scream._ ” Harry heard it in his mind. “ _Make sure **he’s** the only one left._ ” Harry stepped back quickly, and stunned Krum with a whisper.

And then Harry a Cedric quietly went their separate ways, and Harry found he had no problems. Yet again. He hated to admit it, but hearing nothing at all was much creepier than hearing things inside his head.

And then there was a Sphinx.

The Sphinx wasn’t quite as big a deal as all the other things Harry had come across, but it was something, at least. He slowly approached her.

“A penny for your thoughts, little one?” she said. Then smiled, her sharp yellow canines making Harry take a small step back. “The answer to a riddle in exchange for passage, hmm?” Harry gulped but stood tall as she recited:

* “ _First think of the person who lives in disguise,  
Who deals in secrets and tells naught but lies.  
Next, tell me what’s always the last thing to mend,  
The middle of middle, and end of the end?  
And finally give me the sound often heard  
During the search for a hard-to-find word.  
Now string them together, and answer me this,  
Which creature would you be unwilling to kiss?_”*

Harry asked her to repeat it. She did, and Harry paced to help him think. It didn’t take him very long (he’d had experience in not kissing spiders) and he couldn’t help but think smugly of Snape, before rushing passed the Sphinx.

And then there was the Cup, and Harry’s heart leapt into his throat and thumped excitedly against his Adam’s apple.

And then there was Cedric and they were racing and Harry was okay with that because the adrenaline rush was the best part.

And then there was a giant bloody spider and Cedric didn’t see it, and Harry shouted a warning.

“Fuck, Cedric! Spider! Left!”

And then Cedric was tripping and the spider was bearing down on him and Harry cursed it and the spell didn’t work and the spider was clicking its pincers and Harry didn’t know what to do so he did something stupid and ran, grabbing Cedric and pushing him out of the way just in time…

…to get his own ankle stabbed through with the spider’s pincers. He shrieked as Cedric yanked him away, pulling the pincer straight through his leg. To make sure, Harry turned, still on the ground, and cursed the spider again. It froze, just like the Skrewt, and then fell.

And then it was just Harry and Cedric. They looked at each other and then they looked at the Cup, and then they started arguing, each telling the other to take it.

After what seemed like ages and ages to Harry, the two of them decided on a compromise. They’d both take the Cup, at the same time, and they’d both win. So that’s what they did.

“One, two, three!” They grasped the handles.

And then there was the tug behind his navel, and Harry knew what was happening and could do nothing to stop it.

And then they were in a graveyard.


	7. Raven

“Er... is this supposed to be part of the task?” Harry asked Cedric nervously.

“Dunno. Wands out, you reckon?” Harry nodded and pulled his wand out. Something rustled and clinked quietly behind them, like a chain hitting gently against someone’s chest. Harry didn’t turn to look. A figure was approaching from the other side of the graveyard. As it got closer, Harry saw that it was a short, plump man whose bald patch shone in the moonlight. He was holding something wrapped in a bundle of robes. The thing moved slightly and made a strange sense of unease creep coldly into the pit of Harry’s stomach.

Then a high, cold, cruel voice ripped icily through the air. Ever since he’d first discovered that he was a wizard, Harry had feared that voice. It had haunted his dreams, taunted him, and laughed at his weaknesses. That was the voice of Lord Voldemort.

Pain erupted across Harry’s scar. He put a hand to his forehead and sank to his knees, trying to block out Voldemort’s voice. Only when he saw a stripe of green flash across his eyelids did he realize what had happened. Harry opened one eye. Cedric was dead, his handsome gray eyes staring blankly up at the stars, his mouth opened slightly.

Harry stared into those dark gray eyes. Never would they see again.

And then Harry remembered someone else with gray eyes, someone else that must be here, someone else who he didn’t want to die. Harry grabbed Dumbledore’s charmed necklace.

Severus was indeed there and when Harry’s knees had given way with the pain in his scar, Severus’s necklace had pulled him closer to the boy. And now, with Harry gasping for breath and Diggory dead, Severus’s own worry had forced him to double over, his necklace connecting with Harry’s and the two pendants forming a heart.

“Oh, the joys of _feelings_ ,” Severus muttered as he was forced onto his knees next to Harry so that their two necklaces could be closer. “Are you alright, Potter?” he added, with a hint of exasperation, folding his hands calmly in his lap and looking at Harry out of the corner of his eye.

“Snape!” Harry hissed. “You – you have to hide! He doesn’t know you’re here. He can’t know you’re with me! It’s him, Snape…” Harry’s eyes were wide. Obviously it was not entirely Severus’s fault that the necklaces had felt the need to connect.

Severus opened his mouth to retort, to tell Harry that he would not hide like a child, but something in the boy’s eyes stopped him. The brat really was worried about him. Severus closed his eyes briefly, then nodded.

Harry gasped as Snape disappeared and was replaced by a large, shiny, blue-black raven.

“You’re an animagus?” Harry whispered. The raven gave a loud, echoing caw and held out one of its scaly, gray legs. Hanging around its ankle was a small chain and from the chain dangled the half-heart charm of Dumbledore’s necklace. The raven cawed again and flew to the top of a tombstone.

“Get the boy, Wormtail.” Voldemort’s voice echoed around the graveyard, making Harry’s head ache even more. “Bring him here.”

Harry was pulled roughly to his feet by the man he’d seen approaching them from the other side of the graveyard. The man pulled him along and slammed him, hard, into a tombstone, making him knock his head painfully on the stone and causing his glasses to slide to the end of his nose. The man then bound Harry so tightly to the grave that the most movement he could manage was to wiggle his toes.

Harry glanced at the grave directly in front of him. Snape was sitting there, his ravens’ claws digging hard into the stone of the monument he perched on. His half-heart pendent glinted and glittered in the bright moonlight and clinked softly against the stone when the wind blew. Knowing that Snape was there gave Harry the slightest bit of comfort, even though he knew that his professor could do nothing.

At the foot of the tombstone that Snape sat on was the bundle of robes that Wormtail had dropped to tie Harry up. It squirmed slightly. Harry shuddered. Whatever happened, he hoped that bundle would never be opened. Ever.

Harry looked away. Ten feet to the left of the wriggling bundle lay Cedric’s body, staring, wide-eyed out into blank, empty space. This sight was not any more welcome to Harry than that of the bundle fidgeting on the ground. He glanced back a Snape in his handsome raven form and then directed his attention to Wormtail instead.

Wormtail was pushing a huge cauldron just to the right of the grave Harry was tied to. Some sort of liquid sloshed around in it as Wormtail dragged it across the ground. Wormtail lit a fire at the bottom of the gigantic cauldron with his wand and the liquid inside it grew hot immediately. It bubbled and frothed and sent diamond white sparks into the quiet night air. Steam billowed up into the dark sky.

“Hurry!” Voldemort’s voice came from nowhere once again, echoing evilly through the deserted graveyard. Wormtail whimpered and fumbled with his wand nervously, finally managing to get a proper grip on it and pointing it in Harry’s general direction.

 _* “Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!” *_ The ground in front of Harry’s feet cracked open and a trickle of bone dust came from inside the grave, falling softly into the cauldron and turning its contents a vibrant blue.

Now Wormtail pulled a long silver dagger from his robes. Harry noticed that he was now sobbing with fear.

 _* “Flesh – of the servant – w-willingly given – you will – revive – your master.” *_ Wormtail stretched out his left hand, which was shaking violently. With his right hand, Wormtail positioned his silver dagger parallel with the joint of his wrist. He took a deep breath and swung the dagger upward.

Harry just barely realized what Wormtail was doing in time to look away, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to block out the scream that tore through the night. The raven on the other gravestone made a noise that sounded very much like a disgusted _blah_. Harry couldn’t blame him.

There was a splash. Slowly, cautiously, and with only one eye open, Harry looked back at the cauldron. The potion had turned a bright, burning red, like fire. Wormtail was shaking, bleeding, and moaning in agony beside it. With a great shuddering gasp, he pulled himself together again and made his way over to Harry.

 _* “B-blood of the enemy…forcibly taken…you will…resurrect your foe.” *_

Wormtail took up his silver dagger again and pierced the crook of Harry’s arm with it. He collected a little dribble of Harry’s blood in a glass vial. Wormtail began to carry the vial of blood back to the cauldron to pour it into his dark, evil potion. But the raven on top of the tombstone across from Harry gave a loud screech and flew off his perch. He attacked Wormtail, pecking at the back of his head and clawing at his hand.

Wormtail yelped with fright and pain and dropped the small vial. It was covered in dust and dirt and dead twigs poked into it. The blood inside was now useless. The raven, his job done for now, flew to the top of the tombstone that Harry was tied to and looked down at him out of the corner of his shiny black eye.

“What’s he making?” Harry whispered, looking up at Snape. The raven cawed again, more quietly, and flew from his perch once more. This time he attacked the bundle of robes.

“Wormtail!” hissed Voldemort’s voice. “Wormtail, get this bird away from me!” Harry felt his mouth fall open as the raven found his way back to his perch by Harry’s shoulder.

“That’s Voldemort?” Harry asked. The raven let out an indignant squawk, his eyes widening slightly as he threw a reproachful glare down at Harry. Harry ignored this. Snape of all people, he thought, should be able to say Voldemort’s name.

“Wormtail’s trying to bring him back, then, isn’t he?” Harry guessed. The raven beside him rustled his wings uncomfortably in answer. Harry looked up at his professor again.

“There’s nothing else you can do, is there?” said Harry quietly. The raven shook his head in a very un-raven-like way. He flew to the ground and hopped, rustling his wings, behind the tombstone so that Harry could no longer see him.

“I could possibly prevent Wormtail from taking your blood again,” Snape’s voice hissed from behind Harry. “But the Dark Lord may grow impatient and demand all your blood be spilled, to make sure his potion received some.”

“So in other words,” Harry replied in a terrified whisper. “We’re pretty much screwed?”

“I suppose you could put it that way, Potter.” Harry heard Snape move, his robes rustling quietly much the same way his wings had, as he turned to watch Wormtail clumsily re-wrapping Voldemort in his robes one-handed.

“I cannot see how this could end in our favor.” Snape sighed, then rested his head on the back of the tombstone. “Traitorous piece of vermin,” he muttered. Then Snape was gone again and the big black raven flew from behind the gravestone to perch on top of it once more.

Snape screeched a loud, echoing, eerie, bone-chilling screech that made Harry’s spine tingle and the hair on the back of his neck to stand up on end. Wormtail jumped on his way back to Harry.

In his right hand, Wormtail carried his silver dagger and another glass vial. He placed the dagger once more in the crook of Harry’s arm, slicing the cut deeper, holding the vial underneath it to catch Harry’s blood in it. Snape glared angrily at him, but, fearful that Voldemort would demand that Harry be killed so that his blood could be taken, the raven did not attack again.

Wormtail brought Harry’s blood back to his cauldron and poured it in. Suddenly the potion turned such a blinding white that it hurt Harry’s eyes to look at it. The raven screeched again and fell off the gravestone backwards. Under any other circumstances, Harry would have found this funny, but he just turned his head away from the painfully bright potion to watch the raven stumble to his side again.

The raven kept his eyes on Wormtail, looking like he’d like nothing more to do than to cause him pain. Harry followed Snape’s gaze. Wormtail was picking Voldemort up off the ground with his right hand, still crying over the loss of his left. He carried his master to the edge of the cauldron, grabbed one corner of the bundle of robes and dumped Voldemort, with a splash, into the potion.

“I hope Wormtail didn’t do it right,” Harry whispered to Snape. “I hope he messed up. Really bad.” The raven did nothing, but Harry knew that Snape was hoping the same thing. Voldemort returning to power was not good. At all.

But they hoped in vain. Wormtail, it seemed, had done his job correctly. As they watched, the potion began to froth and steam and a shadowy silhouette became visible through the mist. The sparks and the light were extinguished and the dark outline of a man became visible to them.

“Robe me,” Voldemort’s voice ordered. Wormtail, still sobbing in pain, obeyed. Voldemort then stepped slowly out of the cauldron, staring at Harry.

Harry stared back at Voldemort. At the skull-white face that had haunted his nightmares since he was eleven years old. The raven on the ground beside Harry took a step back and seemed to mumble something underneath his breath. Harry gulped with fear. _Lord Voldemort had come back._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do excuse the cliche animagus form. Thanks.


	8. Faithful Servant Found

Voldemort looked down at himself, at his hands like white spiders. He felt his chest, and his arms, and caressed his face. His red eyes, with their cat-like slits for pupils seemed to gleam brightly in the dark with evil pleasure. Voldemort ignored Wormtail, who was still sobbing and cowering at his feet. He glared briefly at the raven, but then he turned to Wormtail, who was begging him.

“My Lord, you promised… Master, _please…_ ”

“Hold it out then,” said Voldemort lazily.

“Oh Master…thank you, Master…”

He offered up his bleeding stump of an arm. Voldemort only laughed.

“The other arm, Wormtail.”

“Master, please… _please…_ ” Annoyed and impatient, Voldemort bent down and pulled Wormtail’s left arm up himself. He turned it forearm up and pulled Wormtail’s robes up to the elbow, revealing his Dark Mark, shiny and red as if freshly burned into the skin there. Voldemort pressed a long, white finger to his mark. Wormtail shrieked as the Dark Mark on his arm turned ink black and seemed to rise from the skin slightly. A series of pops filled the air and figures of people in dark robes and masks appeared out of nowhere. The raven had turned back into his human form, now somehow wearing his Death Eaters’ robes and mask.

Snape glanced at Harry before taking his spot among the others, who had formed a circle around Harry, Voldemort, and Wormtail. Ignoring them, Voldemort pointed his wand at Wormtail. A silver hand shot out of it and fitted itself seamlessly to Wormtail’s arm. Wormtail cried out with joy. Voldemort ignored him as well and began to walk around the circle of Death Eaters.

“Lucius,” he said coming to a halt in front of a tall, skinny wizard with a wisp of white-blonde hair trailing from his hood.

“M-my Lord,” Mr. Malfoy’s voice replied, still silky and smooth, but not nearly as cool and indifferent as usual. “I-I rejoice in your return.” Voldemort nodded to him and stepped up to the person next to him. This one was a witch.

“And the beautiful Narcissa.” Voldemort put a finger underneath the witch’s chin. She stood up noticeably straighter.

“Master,” Narcissa Malfoy whispered. “We c-celebrate your power.” He nodded to her as well and moved on, pausing occasionally to name others and nod to them as well.

“Avery. Nott. Crabbe. Goyle.” Harry’s eyes found what he knew to be Snape. He could only tell him from the others by the small, half-heart shaped lump hidden safely underneath his Death Eaters’ robes, barely distinguishable in the dark of the graveyard – you’d only see it if you knew it was there. Harry felt his own necklace move slightly in Snape’s direction. Snape must be worried about him. Harry realized he was worried about Snape, too. What if Voldemort found out his true position?

“Ah, and Severus,” Voldemort’s harsh, cruel voice pulled Harry back to earth. He’d reached Snape. Thinking fast, Harry let out an audible gasp, to make Voldemort think that he was shocked to find Snape in the Death Eaters’ circle. Voldemort chuckled.

“Yes, Potter, one of my most faithful servants. My spy,” he said, turning his head to look into Harry’s bright green eyes. His gaze made Harry’s scar throb even more painfully. Voldemort chuckled again and turned back to Snape. A cruel smile curled his lips. Snape’s figure nodded stiffly and Voldemort began to make his way back toward his father’s grave. Harry’s necklace was quivering now.

“You all know very well, that the whole world has considered this boy my downfall?” Voldemort hissed, his red eyes glowing. Harry’s scar protested his proximity, and it burned so horribly that Harry nearly screamed. Harry’s necklace crawled slowly across his chest toward Snape. The Potions Master’s anxiety was increasing.

“You’ve heard that when my powers and my body were lost, I had tried to kill him. His disgusting Mudblood mother got in the way…” Harry saw Snape’s figure stiffen out of the corner of his eye. “…and that provided him with protection I had not believed possible… I couldn’t touch him.”

The seething Dark Lord lifted a hand and positioned a long, bony finger to the left of Harry’s face, only centimeters from Harry’s cheek.

“The Mudblood left behind her sacrifice in his blood. Old magic and I should have remembered it. Call me a fool if you will, but it’d not matter now. I can touch him with ease, now.”

The tip of Voldemort’s finger was ice cold, but it made fire explode in Harry’s head and he gritted his teeth so hard to keep from crying out that he was sure he’d chip one of them. His necklace gave a great lurch in Snape’s direction, pulling itself all the way to his shoulder, where it yanked at its chain in earnest, apparently desperate to get to its other half.

Voldemort was addressing his Death Eaters again, saying things about foolish sacrifices, pain beyond pain, and immortality. Neither Harry nor Snape were paying him any attention. They were looking at each other, eyes locked, their worries melting into one. They had no idea what would happen next. The events to come were unpredictable. They were completely unprepared.

“…but once again, I was thwarted by Harry Potter…”

What were they going to do? Was there anything they _could_ do? Harry wanted to beg Snape for answers, but he knew that Snape didn’t have any more a clue than he did at the moment. How could everything have gone so wrong? Harry gulped as his next question came to the surface of his mind. _Was it possible that both of them would make it out of this graveyard alive?_ Harry’s necklace tried to reach Snape’s even more urgently. Perhaps the same question was troubling him, too.

“…and then finally a servant returned to me…”

Harry bit his lip and looked away from his professor. Snape needed to pay attention to Voldemort. What if Voldemort addressed him? What if Voldemort finished his speech and Snape didn’t notice? He would be caught for sure. That would be horrible. No, Snape couldn’t die. Or would Voldemort torture him? Harry thought of the Cruciatus Curse, remembered the spider in Moody’s class. He imagined Snape in the spider’s place, then gulped and tried desperately to push the thought from his mind.

“…she told me about the Triwizard Tournament. How it would be played at Hogwarts this year…”

The Triwizard Tournament. Harry thought of Dumbledore’s speech at the beginning of the year. He couldn’t help but think that they had failed to eliminate the death toll this year. Cedric had died, and Harry was sure that he wasn’t going to be the only one to be murdered in this graveyard tonight. He tried to push that thought from his mind, too.

“…I wanted Harry Potter’s blood. He was the one who had stripped me of my powers in the first place…”

Voldemort wanted Harry’s blood. Harry glanced down at the cut Wormtail had made in his arm. He doubted that a few drops were enough blood spilled for Voldemort. He took a deep breath. There was no way he was going to get out of this, much less with Snape.

“ _Crucio!_ ” Overwhelming pain wiped all thought from Harry’s mind. He just wanted it to stop. He was on fire, his head surely must be being beaten against the tombstone behind him, and his muscles were ceased up. Finally, Voldemort lifted his spell. The Death Eaters were all laughing, except Snape. Harry’s necklace was trying so hard to reunite with the other that it was starting to hurt his neck. He hoped against hope that Voldemort wouldn’t notice it.

“And now you see how stupid it was to ever believe this worthless boy could ever be any stronger than me,” Voldemort stated. “But I’ll not have an ounce of doubt about it in anybody’s mind. Harry Potter’s only weapon is dumb luck. Luck that his mother decided to stand her ground, luck that Dumbledore rushes to his aid at just the right moment. But there is no one here to help him now, and I will prove to everyone in this graveyard just how dumb Harry Potter’s luck is. We will duel, to the death, and I doubt he will last much longer than a few minutes. Wormtail, untie him, give him his wand.

“You have been taught how to duel, haven’t you?” Voldemort sneered after Wormtail had given Harry back his wand. Harry felt completely unprotected. He glanced again at Snape. His necklace was fighting so hard to reach his professor now that he thought the chain might break. Harry thought he might even see a tiny trace of fear hiding away in Snape’s eyes.

“Bow, Harry,” said Voldemort, tilting his head, but not taking his eyes from Harry’s face. “Must be polite, mustn’t we? Bow to me, Harry, bow to your death.” The Death Eaters all laughed again. Harry’s necklace strained even more to reach Snape so that Harry had to struggle desperately against it to stay where he was. Harry didn’t bow. He wasn’t going to play Voldemort’s game.

“I said, _bow_ ,” Voldemort snarled, angrily turning his wand on Harry. Harry’s back bent under unbearable pressure and Harry feared it would snap. Harry did his best not to fall over with the force that his necklace was now putting forth, trying desperately to get to its other half.

“Perfect.” Voldemort almost purred the word. “And now, Harry, we duel.” Voldemort’s voice was riddled with poison and cruel enjoyment oozed from every word. Harry felt sick with fear as his necklace pulled even harder toward Snape.

Voldemort flicked his wand. Harry screamed and fell over as another Cruciatus Curse hit him. His struggling necklace only increased his pain, though he hardly noticed. He rolled on the ground, begging silently for the pain to stop. He didn’t even realize that he was slowly moving closer to Snape, who was struggling to restrain himself from helping Harry almost as hard as Harry’s necklace was struggling to get to him. Finally, Voldemort lifted the curse. Harry scrambled to his feet, swaying slightly in Snape’s direction. He was shaking violently, his muscles and nerves protesting movement loudly. Voldemort was laughing.

“Did that hurt much, Harry?” he asked. “Did you like that? Do you want me to do that again?” Still shaking, Harry gritted his teeth and did not answer. He was not going to play along. “Well? I asked you a question, Harry. Answer me! _Imperio!_ ”

Harry’s mind was wiped again of all thought, though this time not with pain, but with blank, empty bliss. The bliss of not having to think or to feel. As if he was floating. Voldemort’s voice interrupted his dream state. _Just say no, Harry…Answer no…_

No, I won’t, Harry thought. I won’t play your game. I won’t answer.

 _Just say it…say no, Harry…Just say it…_

I told you, I won’t. I won’t say it. No, I won’t do it.

 _Say it, Harry…say no…_

“I WON’T!” Harry yelled out loud. He would not play along with Voldemort. He was not going to be toyed with. His necklace was not yanking him toward Snape as hard anymore. Harry guessed that Snape was probably surprised that Harry could throw off the Imperius Curse. Voldemort looked surprised too.

“You won’t, will you?” he hissed. “Interesting, Harry. Maybe you need convincing?” Voldemort raised his wand again (“ _Crucio!_ ”) but this time Harry dodged the spell, and rolled behind the grave of Voldemort’s father.

“Oh, do you not want to duel, Harry?” Voldemort’s voice was coming closer. Harry pushed himself against the gravestone behind him. “Would you prefer it just end now? Do you want me to kill you now?” Harry knew he was going to die. He knew it. There was nothing he could do, and nothing Snape could do. It was all over. But if he knew it was going to happen anyway, why would he hide here and wait for it? Why wouldn’t he fight back? Why wouldn’t he be brave and face his fate? Harry stood and jumped from behind the grave.

 _“AVADA KEDAVRA!” “EXPELLIARMUS!”_

Their two spells hit in midair, a green stripe of light and a red one, each fighting to be the stronger, to hit its opponent first. Suddenly, a golden thread of light connected the two wands and Harry’s hand began to shake violently as his wand started to vibrate. His necklace had stopped trying to get to Snape because he, like everyone else in the graveyard, was staring transfixed and shocked what was happening to Voldemort’s and Harry’s wands.

Then they were being lifted into the air and were moved away from the graves. While the Death Eaters ran around behind them, shouting, asking for orders, Snape walked calmly, watching Harry and Voldemort with narrowed eyes. What was going on?

The golden light seemed to splinter as thousand more beams arched out from it and crisscrossed around Harry and Voldemort, enclosing them inside a golden dome. The sound of the Death Eaters outside the dome was muffled.

And now a beautiful sound filled the air around the two of them, unearthly and radiant and mind-blowing. It was the most beautiful sound Harry had ever heard in his life: phoenix song, the sound of hope.

Beads of colored light appeared on the strand of light connecting the wands now. They moved slowly in Harry’s direction, making his wand vibrate even harder and grow hot. Harry concentrated on getting the beads of light to travel the other way, toward Voldemort, forcing them back with all his might. Slowly the beads came to a halt on the thread of golden light and then, slowly, so slowly, they traveled back toward the tip of Voldemort’s wand. Finally they reached him, stopped for a second as if to make up their minds, and then connected and squeezed themselves into Voldemort’s wand as one.

Voldemort’s wand screamed. Then a smoky something came out of it and quickly vanished. It had looked like a hand. It must be the ghost of the hand Voldemort had given to Wormtail. Harry blinked in shock. But now there was another thing coming out of Voldemort’s wand. Harry turned his attention back to it.

And then a miniature, smoky version of Cedric Diggory stood before Harry. Harry gaped at him. He looked so solid and get like he could be blown away as easily as a puff of smoke. Was he a ghost?

“Hold on, Harry,” Cedric told him. Still gaping, Harry nodded and looked back at Voldemort’s wand, where another figure was emerging. This man was the muggle that Voldemort had killed in Harry’s dream. He surveyed the scene curiously.

“Real wizard, then, was he?” the old man wondered, gesturing toward Voldemort. “Killed me, you know, that one….Fight him, boy, flush him out….” The old man gave Harry a firm nod, and Harry nodded back and watched in shock as another person squeezed out of Voldemort’s shaking wand. This one was Bertha Jorkins. She told him not to let go, just like Cedric and the old muggle had told him. He nodded again, still with no clue what was happening. The three smoky figures prowled around the edges of the golden dome of light, giving Harry encouragement and hissing insults and taunts to Voldemort, who now looked scared as well as shocked.

And a fourth person crawled her way out of Voldemort’s wand. Harry felt a rush of something he could not put a name on take up residence in his stomach. He fought the urge to smile at the woman, to run over and hug her. It was his mother.

“Your father’s coming, love,” Lily Potter told Harry. “He’ll be here. Just hold on for him, Harry.” And he did come. James Potter came right out of Voldemort’s wand, just like Harry’s mother had done and he grinned at Harry, with his untidy black hair just like his son’s. He walked calmly over to Harry and whispered instructions to him, so that Voldemort could not hear.

“When it’s gone, we’ll only be able to stay for a few seconds…but we’ll try giving you a distraction. Get back to the portkey, right? You gotta get back to Hogwarts, Harry. Understand?”

“And – and will you take my body to my parents?” the smoky form of Cedric added quietly. Harry nodded to both of them, preparing himself to run. He tried not to think about Snape. He could see the Potions Master standing just outside the golden dome, closer than any of the other Death Eaters, watching what was going on inside it. Harry didn’t know how he could get them both back without ruining Snape’s cover. He took a deep breath and then nodded to his father once more.

“Now,” James told him. “Break the connection now.” Harry obeyed his father. He yanked his wand upward, the connection broke, the smoky figures swarmed in front of Voldemort’s face, and Harry ran as fast as he possibly could.

He ran so fast, everything around him was blurred. He ignored the pain in his leg and kept running. He was almost there, just a few more steps. He dodged spell after spell, hiding behind tombstones, throwing himself onto the ground when needed. He was almost there. He slowed down to grab Cedric’s arm, then turned. All the Death Eaters were running toward him. Harry scanned around, searching for Snape. Harry found him very shortly. He was close. Their eyes connected and Snape understood Harry’s plan almost immediately.

“I’ll get him,” Snape sneered, trying to sound as evil and nasty as possible. He then grabbed Harry above the elbow; Harry grabbed the Portkey, and in a whirl of color they were back on the Hogwarts grounds again, outside the maze, people staring shocked from the stands. Harry swayed dangerously on his bad leg. Snape put a hand between his shoulder blades to steady him. Then there were screams.

“A Death Eater!” “Oh my God!” “ _Harry!_ ” Snape was still in his Death Eaters’ robes and mask. He took the mask off with one long-fingered hand, the other still supporting Harry, and shook his hood down, revealing his face to the crowd.

“It’s SNAPE!” “No, it can’t be!” “ _Harry!_ ” Snape ignored them.

“Dumbledore!” he called. He needn’t have summoned the old man, Dumbledore was already running toward them, panting and pale, his strides at least three times that of the others accompanying him across the un-hedged portion of the Quidditch field toward them.

“Severus, what is going on?” Dumbledore demanded urgently.

“It has happened, Albus,” Snape replied. “There was nothing I could do to prevent it.”

“What has happened? Surely not…” But Dumbledore cut himself off as Snape removed his hand from Harry’s back and rolled up his sleeve, revealing his Dark Mark. It was a shinning ink black and stood out perfectly clear on Snape’s pale forearm.

“Cedric…” Harry muttered, pointing unnecessarily at the body beside him. “Cedric’s dead.”

“The boy was murdered,” Snape confirmed quietly. “By…” His shoulders stiffened. “By _Pettigrew_.” He spit the word as if it were the most disgusting thing he’d ever had to speak of. Dumbledore nodded silently.

“Perhaps the boy should go to the hospital wing, Albus?” growled a voice very close to Harry’s left ear, making him jump.

“No, Alastor, I wish him to remain here, with me.” Dumbledore looked from Harry to Snape and then added, “And with Severus.”

“Surely he needs rest?” Moody insisted. “I will take him to the hospital wing, Albus. I’m sure he’d be more comfortable there than here.” Dumbledore sighed.

“Very well, Alastor, but stay with him, won't you?” Moody nodded, pried Harry’s fingers from around Cedric’s arm, and took him by the shoulder, leading him and Snape back toward the castle and into the Entrance Hall.

 _Clunk. Clunk. Clunk_.

Harry followed Moody without fuss and without paying attention to where they were going. Snape, however, was much more alert.

“Moody,” he said suddenly. “The hospital wing is in the opposite direction.”

“I am aware of that, Snape,” Moody replied coldly. “I have some things I’d like to get from my office first.”

“The headmaster did not say that Potter should go to your office first, Moody.” Snape was speaking just as coldly. “He _reluctantly_ agreed that Potter be taken to the hospital wing.” The two of them were walking faster now, and Harry struggled to keep up on his injured leg. Moody kept a firm grip on Harry’s shoulder.

“I am also aware of that.” They turned a corner sharply. “But I don’t trust you, Snape, so I’ll be getting a few things from my office.” Snape stiffened as they entered Moody’s office and he drew up two chairs. Harry gratefully collapsed into the first, but Snape remained standing, placing his hands, somewhat protectively, on the back of Harry’s chair instead.

“What happened, Potter?” asked Moody as he opened drawers and cabinets. Neither Snape nor Harry could see what he was doing.

“The Triwizard Cup must have been –” Snape began.

“I didn’t ask _you_ ,” Moody snarled. “Potter?” Harry didn’t understand why Moody still didn’t trust Snape, but he answered anyway.

“The – the cup was a Portkey,” he said. “It took us to a graveyard. Muggle, I think. And Voldemort was there.” Snape grimaced but said nothing. Moody had no reaction.

“What happened then?” he pressed Harry.

“He – he killed Cedric. M-murdered him.”

“And then?” Moody prompted.

“He had Wormtail make a potion for him. Snape tried to stop him, but he did it anyway.”

“What did the potion do?”

“Gave him his body back. He’s got a body now. Voldemort’s back.” Moody handed Harry a cup full of steaming liquid. Harry felt too sick to drink it.

“What happened next?” Moody urged him.

“He called all the Death Eaters. Snape had to act, obviously, had to pretend.”

“And what did the Dark Lord do to his Death Eaters, Harry?” Moody asked. He sounded excited. “Did he punish them? Did he punish them for betraying him, for not finding him? Were they punished, Harry? Tell me they were punished.”

“What kind of question is that?” Harry and Snape demanded together. Harry found himself standing. He set the cup on Moody’s desk. Something was wrong. Seriously wrong. Moody laughed.

“Remember that faithful servant at Hogwarts Dumbledore told you to watch out for?” Moody said, addressing Snape. “Remember? He’s been sneaking around unnoticed all year, Snape. Right under your nose.” Moody laughed again. “Couldn’t you put the clues together? Didn’t you learn anything from Dumbledore, Snape? Didn’t he teach you anything?” Snape glared at him.

“Who is it, then, Moody?” he snarled angrily. Moody laughed again.

 _“Me.”_

“What?” Harry and Snape both stared at Moody like he was completely insane. Moody, a faithful servant of Voldemort? Impossible. Not Alastor Moody, the famous Auror. Who could be less likely, except maybe Dumbledore himself? Both of Moody’s eyes were staring avidly at Harry.

“Yes, me,” he replied to their shocked looks. “I did it. It’s all of my doing. And now I will kill the both of you. Yes, the enemy and the traitor. What a pleasure. I will be rewarded beyond my wildest dreams. Just wait. They’ll all see. They don’t know what being faithful means. I’ll show them.” Harry was so confused, it wasn’t even funny. He was so completely shocked he didn’t even think of protecting himself.

“ _Avada Ked_ –” But Snape was again much more alert than Harry.

“ _Stupefy!_ ” A blast of red light hit Moody in the chest and he fell over backwards landing hard on the floor, out cold. Snape went to the window and pointed his wand out of it, muttering something under his breath. Something silver shot out of his wand and sped away into the night.

Down on the Quidditch field, doing his best to comfort the Diggory's and keep everyone else calm at the same time was Albus Dumbledore. He stopped talking as he spotted a silver doe Patronus walking slowly his way. It stopped in front of him and whispered in his ear:

“ _The faithful servant has been found._ ”

“Minerva!” Dumbledore shouted. “Come with me!” He set off at a run toward the castle, Professor McGonagall in his wake, as the silver doe dissolved into thin air behind them.

They found the real Moody in the fake Moody’s trunk before they realized there was Polyjuice in the fake Moody’s hip flask. It was Harry who found it. While Dumbledore searched in odd places, McGonagall checked the more obvious ones, and Snape poked around at all of fake Moody’s gadgets, Harry looked at what he had on person.

Moody had all sorts of weapons on him – knives, mostly. They were all shiny and well taken care of. Harry found the hip flask at the same time as McGonagall, peering into the trunk, gasped, “Oh! Oh my, there are two of them!” He’d opened the flask, sniffed it, and handed it to Snape.

The four of them had paced around the room waiting for fake Moody’s dose to wear out, and when it finally did, Harry couldn’t watch it. The man had been under the potion so long, his body had almost forgotten what it was actually supposed to look like, and it took ages for him to get back to normal. Back to being Crouch jr.

They woke him, and Snape produced Veritaserum from absolutely nowhere (he was good for that), and they drugged the fake Moody, extracting the whole story from him that way. Dumbledore asked the questions and Snape committed the answers to memory. McGonagall stood by looking right pissed, and watched the three only wishing he could go to bed and wake up and have it all just be a nightmare, please.

Eventually, McGonagall and Crouch preceded Dumbledore out of fake Moody’s office. Dumbledore stood at the door for a second, cocked his head and twinkled at Snape and Harry in his annoying Dumbledore-ish way. Harry wished he would stop it and let them sleep. Dumbledore looked from one to the other, smiled and then left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Snape and Harry stood in silence for a very long while. Harry was too tired and confused to do much talking. His injured leg hurt and his head was pounding. His eyes were only half open and his shoulders drooped with fatigue. He was a bit of a sad sight, really, standing there, wobbling slightly on his unstable leg.

Snape’s lips twitched almost unnoticeably as he bit down the tiniest of smiles. He shook his head with a slight roll of the eyes, then raised his wand again and summoned up a comfy-looking chair for Harry to sit on. Harry collapsed onto it immediately.

The silence stretched on between the two, though it wasn’t like any of the silences they’d sat in before. This one was comfortable, at least as comfortable as anything could be at the moment.

Snape couldn’t resist a smile when Harry started snoring. His lips stretched into the tiniest upward curve, though this small change made a big difference in his appearance. It made him look much less like a giant bat and more like a real human being. A shine came into his eyes too, making them appear a deep, dark royal blue instead of their usual empty black.

Snape flicked his wand, smoothly levitating Harry’s chair up and out the door. He put a silencing charm around them as well, so as not to wake Harry if they passed something noisy.

Snape used magic to open the door to the Hospital Wing when they got there. Madam Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen, probably down at the Quidditch pitch still. Checking around him, just to make sure there was nobody there to catch him in a show of affection, Snape lifted Harry gently out of the chair. He set Harry down lightly on the closest bed and sat there for a while, watching Harry sleep. A smile sneaked up on him again.

There are indeed some things you can’t share without ending up friends. One of them is knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll. Another is surviving first-hand the return of Lord Voldemort.

**Author's Note:**

> look me up on [tumblr](http://redblooded-disadvantage.tumblr.com/) for stale meta n fresh memes


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